Dying Inside

I can't shake this feel of arbitrary worthlessness
the feeling that I get when I talk to you
is not more than a cough or an achoo
I'm not able to figure out
if you did something wrong
or if I just hate
your face
as it looks judgingly
onto mine

I have this feeling
of dying inside
like I'm meant to sit here and rot
pretend that I'm fine
when I can't even hold a rhyme

I don't think you mean to do it
I just think you are bigger
bigger than I am
and you stomp around
like you own this place
like you own me
and I begrudgingly agree

I know I was meant for more
I can just feel it bursting inside
but nothing ever comes
to those who do nothing but wait

but what, exactly, am I waiting for?
opportunity, love, understanding
to knock on my door?

I just want that feeling again
the glint of being alive
like something that I do
means anything at all

Oh lord, I feel alone here
dying inside

Author's Note

Right now I even think I am too depressed to write. I don't particularly care for this at all. But I wrote it, and I feel it, so here it is.

Reviews

[Antoñyo]

"Right now I even think I am too depressed to write. I don't particularly care for this at all."
--- No doubt the reason this is a gut-wrenching, emotional dish called Masterpiece Stew.
This absolutely NAILS a woman's common plight when chemicals meet an a-hole... (don't ask me where that last sentence came from. idk)

Thanks for the potent share!

[OBWhiteHawk]

I do like this poem. A lot. My family members have made me feel like this as well as exes. You did an excellent job conveying the thoughts and feelings of what you were going through. I hope things have gotten better for you and your depression has lifted, though.