Chris must be feeling something.
This is a poem about being upset, apparently written by a sixteen-year-old girl. OH, and I didn’t write it today or any time recently.
I’m seething.
I’m breathing heat.
I’m battered, blistered, flustered but not healing.
I’m sorrowfully replete.
I’m reeling.
I’m raining sleet.
I’m soggy, drowning, crying but not feeling—
Completely incomplete.
I’m disappointing, maladjusted, certifiably corrupted—
My earthen hopes divinely interrupted by deceit.
I am defeat.
3 years ago