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Nostalgia / You Don’t Realize Something’s Wrong [A Collection]

This poetry collection is inspired by homesickness and nostalgia. A little part of us always misses home, and I wanted to capture that feeling and express it through my writing. Themes of missing the potential and missing someone are manifested.

I. you don’t realize something’s wrong

you don't realize something's wrong

until you’re calling an old friend every day

just to talk about what’s been on your mind.

because everything is constantly on your mind and

it feels like if you don’t tell someone, you will explode.

or implode, whichever does the most damage

you don’t notice something’s off

until you’re crying and

calling your mom for the third time in two days

just to say you miss her. you miss home and

your old life and

everything you used to be.

you swallow your pride and the guilt of leaving home

to let her know just how hard it’s been.

just how much you’ve been struggling.

you don’t realize how long it’s been since you’ve truly been happy,

even just for a day.

how is it already november?

how is it only november?

you need to sleep for a thousand years and

maybe then you won’t feel so tired.

so you won’t feel this bone deep exhaustion that

never seems to go away.

everyone wants to grow up and move out but

no one wants to admit how much they miss it all.

no one wants to acknowledge the fact that it’s really not all that glorious.

you’re sick and tired of boston and the slow trains and the busy busy people.

and you just want to go home.

II. I missed my bus to Boston.

I missed my bus to Boston

and I’m stuck in New York.

I need to hear your voice and feel the softness of my bed.

wrap myself in my favorite blanket.

I don’t think I can make it to December.

I don’t think I can make it through this year.

can someone stop the world from spinning and

everyone from moving and

time from turning?

home has never felt so urgent.

I need a break and a vacation and an excuse to get away.

I can’t stay here anymore.

I’m so sorry for all the things I used to do and

all the things I used to say.

I was young and naive and I know that’s not an excuse but

I miss you.

I regret it all and I promise I’ll be better.

I know I can be better.

I just can’t take this anymore.

I’m craving a place and a certain feeling.

I don't want to be an intruder anymore.

I want to not feel exhausted just waking up every day,

dragging my feet through everything I do.

I want to feel at peace with the wooden floor beneath me.

I want to not feel rushed and silenced every time I speak.

I want a hug from you, and

I want to know that everything will be okay.

III. strawberry twizzlers

lately, I’ve been starting books I’ll never finish

I think I’ve read ten first chapters and

never felt the urge to go on

I love reading, I love living

I’m teetering on the edge

I feel so fragile, delicate, frantic

what ifs can topple me over

maybe it should

maybe I should fall

maybe in the midst of falling I’ll see my life

flash by before my eyes, and

I can finally grasp the meaning of everything

maybe I won’t, and I’ll just be falling

some habits never change

I trim my nails short and never paint them

the residuals of being a musician

I’m listening to old songs I didn’t like and loving them

have I changed?

am I better, or worse?

everything I do is wrong

I’m really nothing special

and I’m glad.

IV. the world is blue

I’m so glad to have had you,

even just for a short time.

you’re a book and

I’m just a page in it

not just a line

but not a chapter.

I love this feeling of being known,

of being understood perfectly,

without the need to explain myself.

I can’t get close enough to you.

I can’t get enough of you.

I was only ever yours to break.

but I made you all up

you’re not real, and you don’t exist.

the world is blue,

and I’m still thinking of you

V. it’s autumn and the sun sets early.

the wind has a bite to it and so do your words.

the leaves fall and so does my heart.

it’s always sometime like this,

when I analyze and overanalyze and

think and overthink

until I’m someone I no longer recognize.

until I ponder the meaning of my existence and

come up with silly reasons.

I need to read more books.

I haven’t finished that TV show.

I need to go to that concert I bought tickets to.

sometimes these reasons feel

monumental, colossal, bigger

than me.

like I’m just a speck in this ever-evolving world.

never growing bigger, but

never getting smaller.

I recognize my issues but I don’t want to be fixed.

my problems are who I am.

it’s conditioned in me, and

as much as they hurt, they also comfort.

maybe I can coexist-

codepend on this unbearable weight of my own guilt,

my lost talent,

my elapsed potential.

maybe I’ll stop thinking that I’m never doing enough.

and stop being terrified that I’ll wake up one day and realize

I’m settling.

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