Spoken Poetry

Alone

Sometimes I think I'm different. Sometimes I know I am. Because no matter what I do I always find myself sticking out of the ground. Others push away from me, like to distance themselves and to keep their own humanity alive. And some people seem to suck the life from my veins, dragging me under the water with them. I don't know which I'd rather have. Be alone or be used, abused, left confused.

Am I a human, the oxygen in the air? What do I look for? How do I escape all the never ending, dissecting days of torture? I wasn't meant for criticism, confliction. I wasn't made to feel the needs of others, to be someone's gravity.

I am here as a warrior, fighting a battle that has no light at the end. I fight because I must, because the lasting result will be the same.

And no matter what, we all end up by ourselves, dreading the dark, the cold, the allowance of fear to come and snatch us up and murder our minds. We all find the pending reality that is waiting patiently for us to think, to discover, and to accept.

Because there is no way out of being alone. We weren't meant to carry on with each other. We were meant to suffer, along with our thoughts, our opinions, our memories. We are alone for eternity.