dear oliver,
have you ever, just once, truly felt alive?
i wish i could answer that question with a yes.
instead of blowing kisses towards happiness,
the majority of my consciousness is spent as a
distant observer, usually in a state of isolation
and self-loathing.
i truly believe that people—out of all the creatures
in the universe—underestimate the power of words.
when the person who is supposed to love you
unconditionally mumbles words spewing from
anger and hatred, you take in the smallest
utterances and over-analyze and mull over them
time to time again until your mind aches with the
resonance of your lonely heart.
no one can define sadness because it takes away
our humanity—leaving us naked in the starlit sky.
the true depth of it is so out of reach—people
even tend to forget how it feels to be ignored,
to feel appreciated, and to be let down again
because our minds are devoured by the
dark mist of sadness.
isn’t it fascinating that people have a way of
tucking things into the slightest folds in our hearts,
only to be exposed when we’re feeling vulnerable again?
the moment where it feels like you’re locked in a
windowless room, suffocating on your own remorse
and all you want is to cry, to scream and run and
say everything you’ve ever wanted to—but you can’t.
it’s a bleak existence. you’ve lost the ability to voice out
your feelings through the tricks of insanity and madness.
promise me a little something: the next time you come across
a crestfallen smile, say something. anything.
try to push away the hate that you have for me, break the
pressure into tiny scales, because your words are the light
shining through our infinite darkness.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
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...
