As teenagers, most of us experience a form of insecurity, whether it be physical or mental, coping is something teens find difficulty doing.
When I am feeling down or depressed, I write poetry in order to speak my mind and bring out my inner thoughts. This process is not only a coping method, but also gives me a way to express myself.
Pushing through thorns, making skin bleed and piecing already scarred skin, I have fought many battles but the one I fight most is between myself and my own mind. I constantly stumble over my own feet, picking myself up fall after fall. What is the use? This is a question I ask myself every day.
Just like a broken mirror, you can glue the pieces back together but the appearance will forever be changed.
My mind is glazed over like the frost that covers your view from behind the steering wheel, leaving you blind to what is in front of you. Pushing petals, subconsciously, not knowing where you’re going seems to take an eternity to get to your destination.
A habit of nail biting leaving fingers numb and unpleasant, digging your fingers into the closed mouth we feed endlessly.
As a child, growing up was what I dreamed for but now all I want is to be carried to my bed so that maybe my legs would remember what it feels like to move. I inhale, exhale, it all felt the same, drowning in and out of consciousness in the white lies I tell saying “I’m fine”.
I am pushed about more than the keys on the keyboard you use to torment me with. Your words of foulness speak through my ears into my soul, tearing at what limbs are still held together loosely.
I’ve grown, I have become what society has planned for me. I’m not important. I’m not someone to remember, but I am someone. I breathe the air you breathe. I walk among the footprints you made once upon a time, but still feel as if I don’t belong.
I’ve grown, I have become what influenced myself as a child. I am changing, I am fighting, but I am someone. I’ve grown, I have made my share of mistakes but that doesn’t mean the eraser from the pencil I chewed on to tame my anxiety is any less important than what I have made of myself because I am someone.
And I am learning to love myself.