There might come a day
when reason will break me
and I'll stop writing
stupid things
There might come a day
when my peers finally get through to me
that
this doesn't make sense
your words don't make sense
when I'll stop telling them they aren't supposed to do that
make sense
and my connections with my
words
will snap and
I'll stop writing about questions
and things that don't make sense
And maybe I'll
stop writing freestyle and write one
thousand
cliché poems about love and how it's
oh so lovely
but they just won't mean anything
There might come a day
when I become sensible
and analyze the facts rather than
challenge them with original thoughts
when my future becomes more important than me,
my life
when I differentiate between important and important
What will I do
On that day
when I look at myself in my reflection
my eyes no longer shattered
my face no longer fake
my heart no longer hopeful
and I'll say My name is Alexis and
not
My name is
Lexi
and not
see my words written
all over my mirror in marker,
reflecting on themselves Questioning my own
existence
What will I do
when my viewpoint of the world
cracks like worn glass
and flies away so that all I can do
is use someone else's
borrow it and steal it and cloud myself
and instead of saying
oh,
flowers have names and meanings
wrought upon them by us
and a rose means love because it's just so
beautiful,
but what if the rose knows differently,
what if the rose knows it means
death?
I will conform to fact and say
A rose means love.
What will happen
when my friends stop
stopping and thinking about my questions
stop seeing things in new lights
stop recognizing me
in my distant eyes
that see clouds, I'm so far away
thinking pointless thoughts
And instead see a person carved in just such a way
that they stop being a poet
and start being human
and stop creating worlds
and start making some
Goddamn
sense.
There might come a day
when my heart stops hurting
when my thoughts are light
when my own Creations stop talking to me
when I stop thinking in clever words
What will I do on that day
Will I even know it's happened?
I
might just
accept it.
I don't think I will though
my eyes can't be fixed
I see things that don't make sense
and there's nothing that
facts or roses or anything can do about it
and my heart
will stay injured,
thank you very much
And I'll write on my mirror
and I'll know my own name
that's not my real one
smile at strangers
but be shy
stare at flowers in a bustling store
ignoring the curse thrown my way
And writing
this poem at all was useless
because there's no way in Hell I'll
ever become human
no way I'll ever make sense
No way
I'll ever not have a question
So screw you,
reality,
I dream in words.
..
Okay so yeah. That came out of my brain.
XD I was lying bed thinking about random, poetic-y lines for poems and I suddenly thought, what if someday I stop doing that? Like, what if I stop asking questions that makes my dad stare at me and say, "Er, I've never really thought about it..." then tell me to see reality, what if I stop seeing things tinted in totally different shades of ideas, what if I stop being shy?
If I started thinking logically, realizing that poetry and storytelling was not a thing that correlates with school and life in the long run, start running numbers and focus on future me without realizing future me is still me. I think I would die if I suddenly lost the ability to see things the way I do.
Sure, yeah, most of my weird perspective on things comes from a life of anxiety, my family not getting the way I think (and wanting me to think differently) not having friends, and being generally disliked, failing math and sometimes reading because I'm reading in class, but I wouldn't change any of it because I love the way I think now.