I’ve been scribbling a lot of poetry in my diary recently and while a lot of things are going on in my life with the transition of moving back home soon; I’ve been extremely busy and swamped. I’ve been trying to do everything and still trying to find the work/balance and finding that in New York is extremely difficult.
I have a blog post in mind for my recent trip to Chicago this past weekend but for the moment, here’s a poem I wrote on the subway the other night:
‘I will always be awkward,
I will always be clumsy,
I will always be messy,
I will always be unpolished,
No matter how hard I try….
Awkward is how I stay.
I will always trip, fall, bruise and scar.
I will always look like I have greasy hair and oily skin, never looking clean.
I am clean but the nerves and anxiety make that hard to look well put together.
I fear people judge me, look at my unevenly shaved legs, chipped nails, ungroomed eyebrows, tired eyes and plain face and think I am disgusting.
They are probably think I have no self-respect but I actually do. I try very hard to be presentable.
I can never get it right.
Always wanting to just be normal but never getting there. Always messy hair and a read face. Red with ache, red with sweat and red with exhaustion. Looking like I crawled out of a cave and maybe I did however my body hurts and aches from the simplest things.
I have made my routine simple by being restricted to be simple. I have no choice sometimes.
My hair will always be messy,
My clothes will always be grumpy and stained,
My bag will always be attached to my back and bumping into things.
My bag full to the brim with homework, journals, ideas and unfinished thoughts.
I may look awkward but I am trying my hardest not to be.’