Trying to become more wicked 

Editor’s note: 

Antonia Zwissler is a King’s student whose poetic work, which is marked by a wistful, yet defiant, streak, we are proud to feature today on the Watch. 

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I need to run,

The sleep of the righteous

is fitful,

I’m trying to become more wicked.

I’m tagged as a trend,

Trapped in a storefront,

The most real thing about me,

Are my bare feet.

Scarred and dirty,

Unmanicured nails,

Chipped and cracked,

Made to run but far too idle.

I sleep on the bus,

I’d rather that than walk,

Rather walk than run.

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Poetry saves me

Time and time again,

But it’s not on a white horse,

It has desperate fingernails,

It’s a figure,

Hanging from a cliff.

I stumble,

Time and time again,

I walk,

In circles,

I solve,

The same problems,

Time

And time

Again.

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1.1

My world becomes fuzzy,

And I draw a picture.

I wonder when I’ll move on,

The floor feels tilted,

And I go out and buy a lamp.

I lean on the walls,

Take a deep breath,

And I go to bed.

 1.2

I find and lose love,

I take care of myself.

The world tilts on its axis,

It falls away,

I take care of myself.

I feel confused and lonely,

I have no choice,

I take care of myself.