Who but I?[Poem]

Who but I?

 Filled with naive optimism and youthful arrogance.

Stagnated their progression and postponed opportunity?

Just to be disappointed and distressed?

Agonizing to shuffle a foot forward in tardy progress.

Who but I?

In absence of wisdom, ignored invaluable advice?

Filled with naive optimism and youthful arrogance.

My mistakes in hindsight.

Agonizing to shuffle a foot forward in tardy progress.

I find myself stuck, sand burping below, sediment crumbles in my hand as I claw myself out of the abyss.

Who but I?

The End is Passed [creative mourning writing poem? Thing]

Four long years the end of my life is passed. Four years I mourn. I mourn missed opportunities, crushed dreams, and wasted potential, for long since the end of my life is passed, never to be picked up again. My death denied absence, an immorality. Tragedy disguised as miracle, a lie. I mourn my own death.

The Curse of Cognition

As time goes on, I realize things I once thought to be blessings are actually curses. Chief among them is the exceptional cognition I’ve been “blessed”(cursed) with maintaining after my injury. My mom has told me about a nurse she hated who used to tell her while I was in a coma, that I was brain dead, that if I woke up, I’d have no memory and not be able to function mentally. When I first heard this(back when I still thought I’d get enough therapy to mount a full recovery) I thought I was so lucky that my disability was physical and not cognitive, that I could still remember everything, and that, though unable to speak at the time, I could still communicate with my friends and family through a laptop. Now, I’ve regained my ability to speak, but I’ve realized my “blessing” of cognition is really just a curse, all the memories of my life pre injury are the greatest source of torment. I remember happiness, activity, fulfillment. It draws a stark contrast to the current emptiness of my “life”(lack thereof). I hate it, I don’t want these memories, I don’t want to remember how good I had it and how far I’ve fallen, I don’t want to remember what relationships are like, I don’t want to remember joy I can no longer feel, I don’t want to remember how much I loved school at the time of my injury, and how I never got to go back. Most of all I don’t want to mourn, but it’s impossible with this curse of cognition. This curse hasn’t enabled me to free myself from this hell of disability, it only allows me to recognize how far I’ve fallen and how honesly pathetic I now am. This is what a fate worse than death feels like.

I Hate This weather. I Need To Go Inside.

Partly cloudy. Just under 60. Balmy with a light breeze. 
It feels good.

It’s terrible. I hate it.
This is the perfect weather to skate in, therefore I hate it. It brings memories, and with memories always comes mourning. Drop in the bowl just as the clouds eclipse the sun to doge the glare it would leave at the lip of the bowl. 

It’s all gone now.

This is what a fate worse than death feels like.

Check my Caucus

First voting of the 2016 presidential election have started in the Iowa caucuses. I’m watching it live on CNN, because this has potential to be a truly historic election. I haven’t been blogging much cause I’m all negativity and no one wants to read a whiny emo blog. Might just start blogging politics, since it’s the only thing that interests me and doesn’t evoke, enourmous pangs of envy in the deepest darkest crevices of my being. Anyway go Bernie! Bernie Sanders may not win Iowa but a close second will get him plenty of delegates, on top of that his likely win in NH will set him up with some momentum going into SC. Fingers crossed!

The Lone Observer

The Lone Observer is an outlier, he sits alone, handheld telescope at his fingertips, watching a distant world he is removed from go on, day in, day out, a repeating cycle. He is left behind.
 It makes him angry.
He merely watches, he has little engagement in this world he views. He is not a part of it.
It makes him hungry.
A modest man, but with strong ambitions, he is unsatisfied with the world he observes, he sees little more than unmotivated mediocrity through his telescope. He would love the ability to jump into this world, and seize the opportunities facing its inhabitants daily. 
It makes him jealous.
The ambundance of contentedness he sees through his telescope discourages him, for he cannot enjoy it as those he observes do. His telescope is likely to bring him jealousy and anger everytime he peers through it, its lenses magnifying this vibrant world, full of things he cannot enjoy, well into into his range of vision. 
It makes him sad.
But he cannot resist lifting the telescope to his eye, always his left, for he can only wink his right eye, because although the small monocular tool brings negative emotions at times, it is also a great source of entertainment in his empty world.
It makes him laugh. 
So, alone he is left behind, telescope pressed against his left eye, to observe, and plot a path into this world he continually observes, unsure he will find one, but determined to try.
It scares him.
***Brownie points if your even reading this but extra if you guess what the “telescope” symbolizes***

Yet I Remain. A Poem.

Ive watched as Theyve all moved on, many long gone,

Yet I remain.

As theyve all grown up, began life,

Yet I remain.

I see perfection, opportunity, and my heart burns with jealousy,

Yet I remain.

Ive learned so much, dreams, aspirations, marginilized , relegated to a life that can no longer fulfill me, my happiness on hiatus,

Yet I remain.

Ive prayed, Ive begged, Ive pleaded, watching time slip by, terrified of losing my youth, the world is missing out on me, and I, the world,

Yet I remain.

Yet I remain, stagnated by one event, angry, pained, drained,

 I remain.

***ive never really wrote a poem, hated it in school, couple blogs i follow on here inspired me tho so feedback would be appreciated!***