You do not understand, I hold myself together so tight. I will not allow myself to fall apart if I cannot afford to, if it would be socially inappropriate in the moment, even if I'm right on the edge of it. And that is not a conscious choice, that is not my mind scrambling to keep it together and holding on for dear life, that is in my bones.

It’s in my bones.

It’s in the part of me that I cannot control.

I'll be doing my tasks feeling perfectly fine and when I'm finally done with them, I will black out so hard I'll need to sit down. That is not an exaggeration.

And I wonder which part of me, which part of my upbringing and youth is to blame for the fact that my subconsciousnes will not allow me to appear weak. Which part of me is it that thinks I cannot afford it.

we could have been a musical,

the dumb and cheesy kind,

with the happy songs,

the love songs, the fight songs,

the dramatics.

we could have been a happy end,

the kind that makes you cry,

downright bawl like a child.

the theater would have been sould out,

but we couldn't get the notes right.

now i hear the songs i sang to you

and i weep.

my darling,

we could have been so beautiful,

if i didn't have to sing

at your funeral

You're five.

Your father shouts.

You and your brother run

and hide in the other room.

You play together

to stay out of his way.

You're ten.

Your father laughs at you.

Your brother laughs along,

but it's alright.

He still lets you play

with his toys.

You're fifteen.

Your father is mad.

You've learned to laugh about it,

but your brother cowers.

You try to make him see the humor,

but he gets angry at you.

You're twenty.

Your father isn't home.

Your brother gets angry

about something you don't understand.

He sounds painfully familiar.

The two of you were never on the same side.

I am an echo

of everyone I've ever loved.

They've all left a trace on me.

They each took a piece of me

until there was

nothing left.

I am but an empty shell.

I am but a cave

with memories on the walls.

I am but an echo

We haven't talked in years and yet, every January I will see the calendar and count out how old you are this year.

I hear you sing every time my favorite song comes on.

I will compare you to every friend I ever make and I wonder if anything will ever feel better than you.

I will tell myself that I won't screw up next time, but I wonder if the memory of you will ever allow a next time.

We haven't talked in years and yet- and yet.

You broke me and you fixed me and you echo from everything I do.

My shadow will forever be reaching out to hold your hand, but my body will never be willing to intertwine our fingers again.

I still dream about you. They're the best, most wonderful dreams I have. They're nightmares. You come to me and I love you. I hug you and I wonder, I haven't felt your body under my hands in so long. Something was wrong, I know it, but right now, everything is so right that I can't be bothered to remember.

Why haven't I talked to you in so long? It doesn't matter, I promise I will never do it again. Just let me hold you. Let me love you.

But the morning sun hits my eyes and forces me awake. My bed feels too big and half of my room is empty and I have no plans for the day. I will not meet you for lunch. I will never see you again.

So I cry and I hate it and I never want to fall asleep again. I wish I didn't have to miss you. I wish my mind would remember you're gone, because my heart can never forget how I lost you.

You did not break me.

That's all I can think about.

My youth and yours.

My tears and your laughter.

My joy and your anger.

My desperate need for company,

and my loneliness.

My desperate need for happiness,

and your killing touch.

You never gave me a moment of rest,

I had to steal them.

You never gave me a home,

I had to break in.

Dear world,

you did not break me.

But lord knows you tried.

poem titled: dubious

it’s so wonderful and strange

how you introduce yourself

like I never knew you.

so wonderful,

maybe I'm not me anymore.

so strange,

maybe I don’t know you anymore.

even though I've called you name,

night and night again,

wishing you'd come home.

maybe we've both changed.

title: i survived my teenage years

genre: poetry

target audience: teen, young adult

synopsis: This is a collection of 65 poems, written between the ages of thirteen and nineteen. It deals with the typical parts of life and growing up like first heartbreak, relationships with family members and loss of a dear friend, but it also offers an overthinker’s point of view on love, the meaning of life and destiny. The focus of the last part, and the overarching theme of the collection, is the author’s relationship with themselves, their chronic problems and traumas they’ve experienced while meeting the world in their teenage years.

Over all, i survived my teenage years is about falling apart and deciding to put yourself back together.

about author: I am a young person with no publishing experience, but a lot of enthusiasm about writing and poetry. I like philosphy and psychology, which often leads me to overthinking. I struggle with talking to people but never with putting my feelings on a page. I am in college, I like reading and working with animals.

I can be contacted on Instagram @alexkan_cant

I've never been able to fix myself,

not fully.

Most days, I can put plasters

over the cracks on my heart

and pretend it's enough.

Some days, I wake up

split in half

and I don't have the glue

to fix it

Today, I woke up

crying and

I wonder

if I will ever not

feel broken

I wish I could tell you

every word is not an attack

but you'd probably

fight me on that too

and I am

not your therapist.