Reid@YWP

To be chosen. 
 

That's all I wish for — to be someone's first choice. 

I watch from afar, lost in a sea of the bittersweet feeling 

As others are always chosen first, but never me, 

a dream, swirling in my tired mind, a sequence of letters makes a word.

my brain aches, an onslaught of countless words and numbers.

Get up, grasp the dream, make it out.

Get up, identify it!

Get up!

Get up!

To love someone

Is to hand them your heart,

Engraved with scars,

Dripping with roots

Drenched in buds

Thrumming with the pulse

Someday there’ll be holes in these walls

Where pictures of you once hung from thumbtacks 

And the little squares of wall they used to take up 

Will crumble and rot.

This piece is a textual representation of what I was thinking this morning when I woke up to a snow day. My university classes are cancelled for today and it reminded me of what it felt like to be a kid on a snow day playing outside.

It feels like drowning in expectations while trying to convince the world I can swim. 

I’m always performing.  

The pressure is suffocating.