I never once dreamed

that I'd start writing poetry

Sure I did it when I was young

But as a teen, it seems so cliche to me.

I guess I'm just a cliche after all

I probably shouldn't be surprised

I apologize to anyone whose read these

I'm sure the shitty prose hurt their eyes

But you see, it's too ____ here

I don't even know how to define

how the wind pulses against the trees

or how the wires keep me in line

My head won't stop hurting

all these brown eyes accusing

Everyone is shouting

But this is too confusing.

God, I don't know what to do.

Is life always this way?

Maybe I should-no. Maybe? 

Or just save it for a later day?

My throat is loaded full of knives

And my shoulders stained with blood

They trace wings along my skin

Like I could fly away- 

(maybe I should)