What I want I can't do.

I want so much,

But I know so little.

Everything around me spin,

While I try and learn to fit in.

The things I enjoy,

I can't do for work.

The things that I hate,

I must use to add checks to the bank.

Everyone tells me it's a phase,

I'll grow out of it.

I'm highly unsure of it.

It's part of my being.

Part of who I am.

The writing.

The art.

It's my form of canvas.

I do what I love.

And I hope I can make it,

Every day until I die,

If only I can convince you it worth it,

as I make my mark on this earth.

brennahmay

ON

16 years old

Fiction

By brennahmay

Drop Dead Gorgeous

It’s her.
The person I have spent my whole life waiting for.
She stares me down, her eyes trained on mine. I was trying to toy with her, taunt her, make her flustered, but she holds my stare like it’s nothing.

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Fiction

By brennahmay

Who does he think he is?

The meeting room is filled with noise. People talking and laughing as they greet their friends. This is the first time I have ever been early for a meeting, and it’s not nearly as fulfilling as I anticipated.

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Poetry

By brennahmay

Buttery Brown

Most people find brown an odd colour to choose.
It's loud.
Ugly.
In your face.
This brown is the colour of shifting leaves as they float to the ground come October.

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