April 6

Kaitlin Davenport, writer


It feels so normal now. 

I can’t decipher between what is pain and reality anymore, 

They’re so deadly similar. 

It hurts to think about my past, 

Though it’s reality.

People can only carry me so far in life before I have to start walking on my own. 

The moment I start my journey, 

Sticks and stones broke my bones,

And words always seemed to hurt me.

I tried to think up a way as to why I was being treated like this, 

Is it karma? 

Maybe a baggage of wrongdoings of my own everyone couldn’t handle to carry anymore. 

Or perhaps, 

People shed their pain onto me to cope. 

Whichever it may be, 

It doesn’t make a difference. 

People could care less about what affects them. 

We all only care about ourselves, 


Sometimes I like to believe that, 

And sometimes I like to believe that at least one person out there understands. 

I scream and cry everyday and for what?

To let out my emotions? 

Or is it because I have nothing else to do but sob? 

My heart is like that of a feather, 

Light and pure, 

But also weak and blown around. 

My body isn’t a punching bag,

It’s a shell protecting and locking away my inner most fears. 

Everything I cherish, 

Yet am disgusted by. 

Everything I’m embarrassed,

Yet baffled by. 

Leaving your mark on someone isn’t uncommon, 

But what is, 

Is for that mark to cage and chain them up. 

Get over it, 

They tell me. 

It’ll fade.

Fading is supposed to drift off in the wind, 

Like a feather. 

But marks aren’t like hearts.