The boys in the street mend their cars.
A miniature garage, it seems.
I feel like crying, I feel so alone,
No-one to mourn me when I am gone.
No-one to miss me, no-one to care.
I pound at the walls, but no-one is there.
And if they are there, then no-one hears.
And if they hear, then no-one cares.
No-one to care, no-one to cry,
If I live, If I die.

The boys in the street are at it again,
Always the same, unless it rains.
I can't understand why I feel so sad,
What is causing this? Am I mad?
I'm in a room whilst the walls close in.
Everything dizzy, in a spin.
The posters I liked suddenly glare at me,
Laughing, jeering, all of them stare at me.
Faces, faces are crowding me out.
"Who am I?" I shout.

And the boys in the street mend their cars.
I watch them and feel more alone.
Voices are shouting, "Do this", "Do that".
Nobody tells me what it's about!
Where do I turn? What do I do?
They will not tell me? Why can't You?
It can't be so hard, why can't I see
The missing link that will set me free.
I'm so confused, I've been seeing stars.
And the boys, still mend their cars.



I struggle to remember when I wrote this poem. It could have been anywhere from age 11 to age 16.
There is some probability in all those ages, but the age range I feel most likely is age 12 to 14

belongingconfusionearly poemidentityisolationlove's tempestbeginnings

◄ Fidgeting

Sonnet ►


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Ferris Ty Taylor

Sat 3rd Apr 2021 10:43

This is so sad x

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Aviva Rifka Bhandari

Tue 30th Mar 2021 04:22

Thank you to everyone who has clicked 'Like' for this poem. ?

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Aviva Rifka Bhandari

Sat 27th Mar 2021 23:27

Thank you for commenting Stephen. It is a very uncomfortable poem, but it is a snapshot of uncomfortable thoughts and feelings.

I think in the language and style of interaction in the poem you can see it was written by an angsty teenager, and that's why it rings true. Because it is true (as much as any angst is).

It is also quite an unimportant poem, it doesn't give much back to the reader, but somehow becomes a bit more important within the series of poems as a mark on the map.

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 27th Mar 2021 16:40

It's a tough one, Aviva, but it rings true and has a nice flow.

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