I wrote this poem on September 25, 2021:
I took a cab home.
Couldn't tell you the time.
But I could feel that the world was awake.
People getting on with their day.
Working.
I worked at night but maybe this was a couple days off.
Didn't even like the people I was with.
But that doesn't matter.
All that matters is I feel numb.
Until I feel guilty.
Because I know that I can be better than this.
I think of my younger siblings and I'm disappointed in myself.
But maybe this is a temporary alternative to being lonely.
And lonely feels worse than shame.
Lonely stabs at me in the night when I'm alone with my thoughts.
And my low self esteem.
Lonely drowns me like a cold pelting rain.
Lonely swirls around me like whisper plumes of smoke.
Ever present.
Ever taunting me with emotions I won't process for decades to come.
I pay the toll, and I go into my apartment.
Alone.
-Amanda
