Is it too much to ask
the world to give me
a respite of people
leaving and telling me
that I am trash
waddling in torrents
of stupidity and naivety?
It is, apparently—
this has got me
writing poems
when I should be
digging through
the hard soil
for my future
There's no one to stop
this torrent of sadness
and the pressure of
the things I couldn't
control from gushing out
like a repressed
suppressed
course of needs and
wants not met
It's been too long, now
and my wish for a break
have gone unheard
unanswered
and instead of giving none
the world threw me
bucketfuls of rain
that smelt like
my own filth
So whose fault was it?
—the world for giving
me the baggage I have
or me from carrying it
as far as I did?
october 18, 2021
YOU ARE READING
every thing is sad
Poetry❝𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥❞ ˜"*°•˜"*°•˜"*°• tired of life? you're not alone. this collection will give you the perfect dose...
