a poet with a broken hand
a poem about being young and incapable of doing what you were meant to do
You say, you say you think you can protect me
I say things that I don’t mean to keep you
With me, I wish you could just smile when you’re with me
Sometimes I think that you make me happy
But sometimes isn’t always, isn’t enough for you
You think that you know better, you think that I’m naive
Maybe I am, Maybe I want to be
Cause knowing hurts more than innocence, you see?
Let me love the better version of reality
But you say, you say you think you could protect me
Protect me?
Protect me?
Why does everyone always need to protect me?
I’m drowning in their protection, in all the what-if and maybes
that could have– but never came to me.
The possibilities of what we could have had
I’m drowning within the spaces inside my head
And I would tell you, tell you that I’m drowning
But you would tell me to stop telling metaphors
Cause you don’t understand, no
You wouldn’t, you couldn’t understand
That I am poet with a broken hand
A single pen without ink
In my broken hand
Drowning with
My broken
Hand, alone.
I wrote this a week or so before I went through a breakup.
#childhood #identity #insufficient #intrapersonal #naive #poetwithabrokenhand #toxicrelationships #vent #youth
