To go back to messages exchanged
Words typed and backspaced
Emotions behind dimly lit screens
But when I do
It feels like unpacking packed boxes
Ones lost (forgotten? lost? forgotten?)
While shifting
towns,
homes,
and rooms
and rooms
With a friend's comforting words
In a city lost in blurs
The only extension of home
In a city that is not mine
Like a landline
With the spiralling cord holding my legs
Rooting me back in the ground
Soft voices
In 8 minute tracks
Warm white light
Washing faces at 2 A.M.
Laughter in spells of sleep
Love? Comfort?
An almost room
With a name on top
Songs sent back and forth
Photographs
Conversations of 'facts'
Stars
Flowers
Poetry
Boxes that should be tagged 'miss'cellaneous
Misspelt words
Written through watering eyes
Desperately reaching out
Badly worded texts
With pruned fingers
Waddling through the drowning water
Like a landline
With the spiralling cord holding my legs
Rooting me back in the ground
Soft voices
In 8 minute tracks
Warm white light
Washing faces at 2 A.M.
Laughter in spells of sleep
Love? Comfort?
An almost room
With a name on top
Songs sent back and forth
Photographs
Conversations of 'facts'
Stars
Flowers
Poetry
Boxes that should be tagged 'miss'cellaneous
Misspelt words
Written through watering eyes
Desperately reaching out
Badly worded texts
With pruned fingers
Waddling through the drowning water
Traces of terrified fingers
Typing naive responses
To older boys
Trying their 'luck'
At what? A Fuck?
Asking about
Threads covering my skin
Questions I only understand now
Boxes I never open
With photos I never seeked
With texts I never read
Disgust echos in every fibre
Long lines of texts
Confessing supposed undying love
From both the unknown and oddly known
Bad rooms that I would rather lock
Arrows shot through
Anger and hurt
Confrontations
Rolling eyes
Clenched teeth
Smashed screens
Realising the 'ends' in friends
Quick articulations
Meticulously chosen words
Sharp witty terms
Half-hearted burns
Terms
Politics
Accusations
Name-calling
Blocking
'Please go google'
Boxes with cobwebs
Memories so old
That even feelings have now gone cold
Trying their 'luck'
At what? A Fuck?
Asking about
Threads covering my skin
Questions I only understand now
Boxes I never open
With photos I never seeked
With texts I never read
Disgust echos in every fibre
Long lines of texts
Confessing supposed undying love
From both the unknown and oddly known
Bad rooms that I would rather lock
Arrows shot through
Anger and hurt
Confrontations
Rolling eyes
Clenched teeth
Smashed screens
Realising the 'ends' in friends
Quick articulations
Meticulously chosen words
Sharp witty terms
Half-hearted burns
Terms
Politics
Accusations
Name-calling
Blocking
'Please go google'
Boxes with cobwebs
Memories so old
That even feelings have now gone cold
Turning twenty is terrifying, moving out of the 'teenage' years fills me with an odd sense of growing up and dread. I have always been a person who has not allowed myself to indulge in 'teenagery' things, especially I've never let my poetry be about teen cliches and crisis or cringe. This week I let myself indulge in the cringiest cliches of being a teenager because it is the last time I get to, so here you have it teenagery musings before I complete two decades.
