Clarity

A portrait of my 15-year-old brain.

Weaker, and I was called upon
to be the first.
This bitter strength in zeros
is left harmonious - less.

and waiting
          is longer
and waiting
              is longer
and waiting
                    is longer
(but shorter if you see)          longer yet...
and I am still rambling to my own head
only to the me
who tortures me
in silence.

"Foolish you in fear," he says.
"You could've had my depth."
For only my eyes suffer.
I still know
beauty will be found again.

Nothing is you,
but hair and flesh in water.
Clarity, no.
I do not think
to be,
I break.