Poetry Friday: I Don’t Understand Life

I Don’t Understand Life

I catch myself not understanding life
when I walk to the bus stop
or the counseling office,
sometimes eating an apple
or avoiding cracks in the sidewalk.

I can’t understand
how some go their whole lives
and never want to kill themselves.
And I can’t understand
how most people don’t have anxiety.

And why do I love to write
but it doesn’t fill me up?
I am writing I am writing and I love it but
it doesn’t fill the hole in my heart.
And nothing does, nothing I’ve tried.

Emotions are on everyone’s face but
I can’t find them inside.
I’m doing it wrong, aren’t I?
I can’t decide if my plight is mostly unique
or mostly common.

I thought pain was only for the dreamless.
Here I am right in the middle of my dream and
there’s an elastic band around my right wrist
in case I feel a need to cut—
SNAP, a rush of pain that brings relief.

And sometimes when people look at me
I don’t know what to say or do,
so I lower my eyes
and cower inside.
I am not above pretending to be invisible.

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