Pressure

They act like it's an anomaly how I
Spend my summer days studying
Yet I lament all of my missed
Opportunities to live and it's
Not like I have a choice but
That's my own sinister fault they
Say and they're not wrong
For my surliness only
Sprouts because I put on too
Much pressure again and
I'm impossibly ubiquitous with
Narrowing time but I'm far too
Hyperviligent and they think I
Enjoy torturing myself to
Study and win but I wouldn't
Mind eccentrically skipping
And finally living
For just a day.

elise.writer

VT

16 years old

More by elise.writer

  • fragile foundation

    every twist of inadequacy's blade

    (each one worse than the previous)

    fell in a rhythmic order, one that your silence

    carried in. did you hate me?

    you'd never say so. so blindly, i never changed.

  • sunday nights

    sunday nights are my own.

    old music in the corners of my mind

    pen scratches on paper, ten thousand poems

    two hundred and seventy-two

    little golden lights, 4 walls

    that mirror my soul.