dear oliver,
sadness:
it’s like a thinning tightrope, you know.
if you fall, a person on the other side will
scream, “no.” yet not even dare to
fall after you.
they will not
they will not
they will not
and that’s sad.
beauty:
just jumbled up barnacles proclaiming
themselves as words to define the meaning
of how one feels about their appearance
which is all a fake consciousness of their
mind. what is beauty?
how does one define beauty? when we
will never be able to see how we truly
look like? cameras aren’t capturing
the real beauty swimming through our blood.
i should have known
i should have known
i should have known
and when we look through the mirror,
what do we see? light bouncing off our eyes
and a reflection that is the opposite of what
we are.
pathetic. how people think the mirror
shows us who we are. when it does
quite the opposite.
pathetic. how i fell for it. but it’s too
late. once you are trapped, there is
no way out.
just because i don’t know how i look
like doesn’t mean i’m pretty. god, i’m
an idiot. i’m trying to make sense of some
philosophical words that were written to
fool the minds of the consciousness so
the unconscious won’t pry out the truth.
what the hell am i saying?
i can’t see the road. i can’t
hear my own thoughts.
loud. too loud. loud for loud. loud
is the word used for loud sounds.
loud thoughts silence the screams.
what?
no.
what will be my
last words anyway?
hopefully not
anymore codswallop.
maybe―death is beautiful.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
