Distractions: A Book of Poetry

Poems that I've written


142. Pardon My Hormones

I don’t know
what the future holds
There is no horoscope, no spell, no psychic
to tell me
what to expect
And when I have family members,
whom I’ve trusted and loved my whole life
telling me that
I’m not ready
I take the words to heart
and doubt myself even more
Why would they tell me that?
I’m already anxious enough
And now I just want to cry
Because I don’t know what to try
I know I’m not ready,
I already told you so
But, as usual, you didn’t listen!
You don’t listen to me,
and then you wonder why I won’t listen to you?
And then you look at me and wait for an answer
and I just can’t respond
Because my brain isn’t processing your words fast enough
And my mouth doesn’t want to open
And apparently that means that I agree with you
“Get a job, you’ll learn,”
conversation over and done
But I’m still processing and you’ve just walked away
And I still have nothing to say
Oh, I’m trying my hardest not to cry
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t be a baby
You’re seventeen years old, don’t be a baby-baby-crybaby

And I wonder what you would do if I told you
there was once a time when I just wanted to die
But that “kid” that I’m “wasting my time with” 
saved my life, and
He’s fourteen, dammit, not thirteen,
and he’ll be fifteen next month
But you clearly don’t care
That my emotions are a wreck
and he is the duct tape holding it all together
so I can survive my senior year
You just see the immaturity, irresponsibility, the “hormones” and the “attitude”
You see a stupid lazy teenager who doesn’t have a drive, just a passion
She has potential, but she refuses to tap into it
except for things that don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things
And she takes it all for granted: the toys and the trips, the money and the tricks
And she thinks her life is soooooo hard and sucks so bad because she doesn’t have wifi

Shut up,
Stop right there.
I know that there are girls my age who have to get dirty so they can eat breakfast,
I know there are girls who live much worse lives. 
I know that I’ve had a pretty cushioney life, oh, I definitely know that

And I’m a spoiled brat who can’t think for herself:

Well, yeah, because no one ever gave me a chance to think!
It’s not my fault I’ve been raised as reliant and dependent,
not my fault I wasn’t taught the skills
You want me to learn it? Then teach me! 
Don’t wait for me to ask, because I won’t until it’s too late

No, I don’t know what the future holds,
and I’d rather focus on the now
Because even if you’re right, and I end up in a K-Mart working minimum wage,
at least I’ll be alive
At least I haven’t given up 
like so many people my age
At least I never ended up on suicide watch 
or stashed mind-numbing drugs under my mattress
or stole a bottle of booze
Just be glad for that right now, please
Just let me live my way.

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