Silence is golden
I was bored so wrote a poem! This was shortly after getting two medical school rejections in one day and wanting to monopolize on that sadness. Worshipping my grief and all that…
I thought I was okay with being alone,
when only the word ‘silent’ described my home.
Actually, maybe ‘silent’ is too vast,
too empty, too hollow, like a feeling past.
Because the sounds in my head are the opposite of silent,
and the heart beat of the clock is confusingly violent.
I thought I was fine with listening to my thoughts,
until I realised the voices were retorts
to my own story, like a portable narrator.
Except I wasn’t the author, but just a curator.
I didn’t write the plot, instead I displayed it,
making it look planned and carefully orchestrated.
I thought I could cope with a set back, a failure.
But then why do I feel like I’ve become a traitor?
Perhaps because I’ve betrayed myself
by not achieving the trophy I thought I’d put on the shelf.
Maybe I’m not as resilient as I thought.
Have you noticed that each one of these verses is slightly too short?
hey! i'm an 21 year old medical student (currently intercalating in anthropology) living it up in east london! i spend my spare time playing dixie chicks on guitar (badly), attempting to do yoga and turning it up at my church.