I find organic to be fun
Becuase there's a cute boy in my class
And I always have to be careful
Not to stare at that ***.

And my train of thought
Just seems to get lost
Between ionization of electrons
And very ***** thoughts.

I'm always trying to focus
With my very best effort
On the professor and lecture
My answers are always cohort.
When I get called on
The answers slip out
I'm never all there
But I never have to doubt.

I know they're right
It's all in my head
So bursting with facts
A plethora of premed

That's exactly why
I never have time
To ponder emotions
Or cry and whine.

I've got equations to solve
And solutions to mix
I've got labs to write up
And patients to fix.

So while I may like a boy
I know it'll never work
I'm emotionally bankrupt
And he'll take me for a ****.

Because I wont talk feelings
I've got anatomy to memorize instead
And I wont have time for long dates
Because I'll be studying or in bed.

So I wont ask for his time
Because I haven't any to return
I don't have any to give away
No free minutes to burn.

I see things I can’t make sense of
I strive to be with attributes that don’t exist
I meet gunners every day.

I try to find happiness in the most caffeinated liquids.
But the light never shines and cannot be found
My darkest suspicions is that it’s been buried underground.

Not only can I not find a shovel but I also lack the energy to dig.
I’m feeling so empty.
Drained with nothing to give.

And there’s nobody to reach out to.
Flailing limps, discerning manic.
I can’t escape this attack.
Cortisol levels rising

And

I

Begin

To

Panic.

the years carried on by
we lived the lie
these are the days of our lives
we started so young
and had our youth taken from us
now we are barely adults
and feel like old men
not in mind, but in body
and now we act like teenagers
not in body, but in the mind
we are to old to be immature
and to young to be this cynical
but it was supposed to all be worth it
but as we float in the pool
for hours on end
even the doctors we are now
that we were ******* over
and ******* and moaning
won't make the thought of her go away any faster

there's this theory, my mom once told me,
that liars are always reincarnated as dogs
i've been thinking a lot about people dying lately
and i've also started counting time in dog years
according to such, it's been about two long dog decades
i don't miss you anymore, and i'm about done grieving you
(you would've just called me out- i'm a liar through and through)
and i found that if i drink enough, you're still here, well and alive
your mom never cries or loops your old playlists when she drives
your dad never comes over to gift me souvenirs from your life
your sister never learns to shape grief into an essay in one night
no, you're still helping her brainstorm what exactly to write
we stay up together, on facetime, stressing the the entire night
and she chooses premed because of a torn ACL, not a torn family
and we spend hours debating if she should submit her SATs
and grief is only ever-so-distant, yet only oh-so-familiar
we have it our way: it is never more than a recognizable stranger
i write you in present tense, you agree: dogs in our next life
i gaslight, i lose my mind, i'm convinced anything's worth a try-
so, how many poems do you think i have to write
for it to be enough to bring a friend back to life?