Poems From Another Sad Teenager

i am a fraud

i must be wasting my potential
on my own humanity.
i think that all my words are wasted,
a life of color killed by me.

these hands could form so many things,
they could craft a thousand tales.
and this voice could sing a thousand songs,
these feet could walk a thousand trails.

and maybe if i had the will
to try my luck at magic,
my life would feel much more sincere,
my words would feel less tragic.

but the only thing i know to do
is destroy my every odd
and my every chance to live my life
deep down i know i am a fraud.