A Poem: Angry Thoughts, Maybe You Kids Can Relate

"I’m rotting.

Stepping barefoot, soggy skin sticks to cement and pulls up my bare heel scraping on concrete in the rhythm of my pace.

It’s become so a part of me now, wanting to die; that every particle of air that slips past my tooth does so lazily; trails down my throat and into my lungs only to be sighed out by someone like me. What a waste of a creation. Even my muscles won't do the work anymore.

A pile of sludge squishes into class. She takes a seat, listens, pretends she has a brain, or that this information is going to be put to good use.

But all ye who enter be warned: shes nothing but a sad little landfill, full of poptarts and antacid tablets.

So, now you see when someone tells me I’m cute or feigns interest, I have to climb out of my snail shell that took 20 years to build; comprised of slime, snot, and sadness only to tell some weary suitor that I’m unavailable.

I have no human form, leave me be.

I am a void; does she have a face? Yes! But, this is not a face to know.

Just a girl that held the door open for you once, or told you a funny joke. No one will know her.

It’s a real pity, you know? For the pretty ones to get stuck at the bottom of someone’s shoe."

Katherine Crawford