It's not a poem, just a load of angst.
Augh. Sorry for not posting in forever, nonexistent readers. I should get the Write It ers to join you guys. You've been so supportive. You've never said a bad word! (hahaha)
That's not the angst; that's just a bit of fun joking to start off with.
UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: What was here wasn't bad or embarrassing. It was true. But it's personal and I don't want anyone to see it. Anyone else, I mean; it's OK that "the witty weird friend" from the rant saw it.
We read Emerson's essay Self-Reliance for English today. It's lengthy and overdone and overdramatic, but at least it isn't a pack full of awful, awful, screaming lies. At least it tells the truth. Albeit with one too many modifiers.
What are my problems? What is it I need to confide in people? It's only what is written above. All of that. I feel trapped. Trapped in this small town, trapped in America, trapped in the world. Trapped in the prison of my own mind, although my mind has limitless bounds, and my imagination ends at the borders of the universe. I have limitless potential and opportunity, but I wish I could pursue it now and not wait. I want to live! Everyone is set up to be a corpse before they are even a person. I cannot do that. I must live! I must!
And I can.
I just wish I weren't so alone.
-magic*esi
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