reizzasjellybones:

Okay I won’t do something silly like double paste my dumb poem again.

Anyways, this poem is in the Liar Collective; a magazine that my school published. They got the formatting all wrong, so I’ll post it here.

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My wrists are the ankles of my hands

All of these nightmares are going to my thighs

adding weight to places on my body

that I didn’t know existed

places I forgot to examine

But when I start to realize

it’s too late; the pounds aren’t shedding.

Just my hair

And I feel like…

The only new thing about me is

the gray hairs I found on my head,

because I don’t realize that I have to learn 

from these mistakes

And I feel like…

I just keep making them,

and being wrong wrong wrong wrong

And I feel like… 

I feel like an eggplant