Poems

Pain

We preach our problems,

Asking for help, but not knowing what for.

Do we just want to be heard?

Or do we expect everyone to have the answers?

We walk on unsteady ground, barefoot.

Understanding pain but have no way to express it.

Do people know what's really brewing inside us?

Or do they pretend they do and go on with their day?

We stick to the people we want to be.

The people who seem to have it all going for them.

But does anybody have a genuinely good life?

Or do they put on a show to hide what they're going through?

I was born to a very fortunate life.

Loving family, pretty well off, surrounded by extremely smart and caring people.

Should I feel bad for wishing I had a harder life?

Or does that make me a selfish and ungrateful child?

I see the pain my friends go through.

I want to reach out my hand and help them.

How can I do that if I have no clue what they're going through?

Or if I think I do, how can I help them if I can't even help myself?

Even if I was born into a very fortunate household, that doesn't mean I can't be depressed.

I feel the pressure everyday of the fact that I have a life that many others wished they had.

And even if they did have it, many others were stripped of it too soon.

I hear my friends talk about all they've gone through,

I wish more than anything I could switch lives with them.

My main source of happiness comes from their happiness,

How can I be happy when there is nothing I can do for them.

I've never been good with words so when I hear them talk about their lives,

I never know what to say.

The only thing I'm good for is to just be there,

But it's hard to do that when most of what you do is online.

It seems that no matter how good your life is,

There's no way to get through it without the burden of this broken world on your back.

Life is a cruel joke,

Forcing poor innocent souls to carry a huge weight on their shoulders,

Only for their lives to be stripped away in a matter of 1-100 years.

But in the meantime,

All we really can do is be a shoulder to cry on.

Whether the shoulder is able to whisper comforting words or not, is unclear,

But a shoulder is a shoulder and we shall do our jobs to the best of our ability.

Or, at least, that's how I see it.