Am I not?
For thinking this could become anything?
Says average teenager to her diary, I feel like I’m 12.
Seriously, who writes poetry?
Yet here I am,
Telling you this,
To whoever’s listening.
Feeling low, like I always do, Wednesdays 6pm
One last try, get done with class in 3 hours, drive home,
smoke a cig on the patio, whisper song lyrics to the moon,
chat with “God” about life and wishes and hopes and things that will never happen.
So why do I do this?
Whose attention do I ever capture?
Do others notice me like I notice them, when a guy
Catches my eye
And I can’t look away?
Insane, absolutely insane to even consider thinking I could do that to anyone else,
that anyone could dream of me like I dream of them.
And yet isn’t that how life goes?
Isn’t that how love and all that nonsense starts?
With catching someone’s eye and never letting it go?
So why do I believe so fullheartedly that that will never happen to me?
October 21st, 6pm.