17 years old
Lynfield College, Auckland

Can’t you see all the time we waste?
Wanting to hide everything in your padlocked heart?
Your silence murders me.

I can no longer read between the lines,
You talk to me by miming,
And I no longer know what to do.

Every new day is a battle,
Between an unforgiving mind,
And merciful heart.
Yet I still choose to follow the latter,
It’s false hope more tolerable than any truth.

They call it Stockholm syndrome.
I call it love.

Despite your preoccupation,
With trying to prove how little I matter,
Or neglecting my existence,
You still manage to play me each time,
As if I was a pack of cards.

But just as a game cannot last forever,
Neither can my foolishness,
For time is the great enlightener.
Its vast expanse able to absorb the deepest of wounds
And cleanse a mind of its naivety.

My skin is no longer thick and my mouth,
Unwilling to remain an echo chamber.

Silence is not the friend of time,
And neither will it be mine.

Be sincere.
Even if it’s going to hurt.

This poem is part of the TEARAWAY Young Poets feature for National Poetry Day.

The Common Room