Oct 25

Mosquitos

My personality was the last one picked for the kickball team It was shy, The one who stayed quiet In the chattering mob of students who Didn’t like me. “Why didn’t they like me?” Negative thoughts bombarded me On those lonely nights, Sitting on my front porch, Watching as cars whizz Past in a flurry of Colorful lights. Like all those people, Rushing past, But never stopping for a Closer look. Fast forward To now, my personality is smart. It is funny and self confident. “But why doesn’t SHE like me?” Those thoughts still Plague me Like mosquitos, Sucking the all hope Out like blood. But the mosquitos go away In the winter. “Why doesn’t SHE like me?” I guess the mosquitos Aren’t leaving This year. I try to outrun the mosquitos With positivity, hiding the pain Behind a Plastic mask of my face. But life is a balancing act, And sometimes You fall off the tightrope. You hang on for dear life, Your weak biceps Struggling to hold on, your fingers Slipping with every insult that Finds a way under your iron skin That you slowly built up to protect you from the blood sucking Mosquitos. You fall into a black lake of mosquitos, All telling you that you’re too skinny Or that your nose is too big. That you’re ugly and weak. I guess that’s the beauty of it all. Our appearances, shaped by the scars Of our faults. They make us ourselves. This poem made me believe, That I am more than a Prisoner, held captive by Thoughts of pain. I broke free from the mosquitos. I broke free from the parts of myself telling me I was nothing, That I would die alone. I broke free from the anxiety of constantly worrying When the mosquitos would come back. And they never did. Those wretched mosquitos, Feeding off the pain of people, Eager to witness the next person kill themselves. We must eradicate them. We must see that we are all more than what they called us. I hereby declare war on mosquitos. No longer will they fester and multiply. No longer will they engulf people who have so much to live for. No longer will we let our thoughts plague us, covering us until we are Empty husks of our former selves. NO MORE WILL WE LET THEM WIN.
About the Author: dakoval
Dylan Koval
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