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.