poems

laments of a sheltered kid

november 2023

there’s too much empty space in my cluttered mind. i’ve always wanted my own room but i’m afraid that’s too much space for me alone. i don’t have enough things of my own to fill it up—i consume most things i want in a matter of seconds. i’m hungry for the human experience, or at least the kind they collect and curate for cinema. the tangible warm-bodied romance. the talking, intoxicated, until three a.m. the t minus ten seconds till the fireworks go off. the taking and giving and stealing and grieving. the teenage dream. i’m a modern-day tantalus, watching people love and lust and fight and feel. i want to be sick, but i’ve kept this mask on for years. it’s relatively safe now; the only thing stopping me is the thought of being perceived. i’ve never been this bare. do i really want to be sick? or is this the teenage rebellion expected of me? i’m not sure where my hormones went. i don’t feel much other than a significant lack. where did everybody go? the bodies i was terrified to call mine. i miss their minds. their hearts. theirs provide much more comfort than my own. i’m too scared to move past.