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  • theboywiththespecs 33w

    I hate it when the people
    I know make their ways into
    what I write; my words have
    evolved to make bad look
    worse, but the real reason is
    I’m tired of having more pages
    to read than people to sit with.

  • theboywiththespecs 33w

    The world grows a new pair of ears every day,
    just to hear me say what I have to say. I can remain quiet, in the corner of the room I always sit in, but I don’t because one day, what I have to say may become the thing the world grew ears that day for.

  • theboywiththespecs 33w

    I say this with love: I’m at my happiest
    when you’re so far from where I sit that when I
    look at you, you seem like a moving dot.

  • theboywiththespecs 33w

    I could’ve been easily fooled by you,
    but no, I had to make you up in my mind
    and let that version of you fool me.

  • theboywiththespecs 34w

    I don’t have a place to be,
    even if I am allowed to get lost.

  • theboywiththespecs 35w

    Pain is a whole body experience.
    You can’t clip a fingertip and expect
    to have a fantastic afternoon.

  • theboywiththespecs 36w

    One day, I will be OK.
    It shouldn’t be too many days
    from today. It won’t.
    When I am there,
    I won’t have broken words.
    My punctuations would be
    haphazard because I’d be
    busy being happy.
    I won’t stand in the street
    and ask for a story.
    I may sneeze a couple of times,
    but I wouldn’t fear to
    throw out the lump of
    sorrow that’s been lodged
    somewhere in my body.
    I will learn to ride a bike,
    or I wouldn’t be too hard
    on myself for not willing
    to learn it ever.
    When I sit down to
    write something random,
    it wouldn’t read like this.
    Or anything I have written
    before because I would be OK.
    And OK people read beautiful:
    their words read intelligent,
    their metaphors lyrical, and
    their poems poetic.
    If I ever make a mistake,
    I wouldn’t make it my life
    goal to reason it out.
    I will know I make mistakes;
    I can’t change them, but I
    can live better.
    I may start to enjoy reading books.
    I may learn to play the piano;
    I may buy a second-hand one,
    if I ever become a pro
    over a fortnight.
    When I’m OK,
    I would unlike all
    the songs I liked on Spotify.
    I’d rename myself and go
    somewhere
    that doesn’t feel like
    walking on shards.
    When I sing,
    it would sound bearable.
    My bearing wouldn’t be awkward.
    My hair would grow long
    as a blue whale and I’d wrap
    it around me when winter comes.
    I wouldn’t sweat;
    OK people shouldn’t sweat.
    I wouldn’t bath because
    I would always smell like
    freshly baked cookies
    and I wouldn’t poo because
    all I eat would be magically
    turned into energy.
    When I cry—
    which would be never,
    if I am OK—
    I would cry sugar crystals.
    When I laugh—
    which, let’s be real,
    would be all the time—
    earth’s temperature would
    come down a tiny
    bit. It wouldn’t rain
    when I don’t have an umbrella; it wouldn’t shine badly
    when I am heavily clothed.
    Everything would be
    fantastical
    when I become OK.
    It would be so wonderful
    I’d feel light as a humming bird.
    It would be so wonderful
    I wouldn’t adore Plath or Dickinson.
    It would be so wonderful
    I would actually feel alive.

  • theboywiththespecs 37w

    You only need to explain
    when your words are weak.
    I remember days when I woke
    up and said to myself that I
    will outshine the sun that day.
    I used to say that with such
    trust, I outshone the
    sun every time.

  • theboywiththespecs 38w

    Leaving someone
    behind could sometimes
    be an act of kindness.

  • theboywiththespecs 38w

    I catch every second by its tail and put it in a jar. I have been catching time for some time now. I don’t know why I do it so religiously, but maybe if I have enough time, I’ll figure it out.