A poem written by 15 year old me

The day becomes you.
Every day.
The angst-ridden fever of having to live through the inevitable
is washed away in your face.
Wavering into calmness.
It supports me.
I feed off of it.
Haunting me.
A well-known stranger.
I hang on your words, your voice, your eyes.
Yet you have never seen mine.
I…