T͢h͢e͢ M͢e͢re͢
Myself...
exactly what is "myself"?
Although behind a mask
it won't be for long
It'll become my face,
yet where was it in the first place?
It was a soul
small and gray.
Merely dull now
I follow the voices
playing in their show
along partaking
in the laughter, grief, and joy
though it's fake.
Indeed of a heart
I simply wear a mask
to continue observing everything from afar
I just stay there watching
countless hours and people pass by
I forgotten how long I could stand.
A couple of pigeons pass by,
I thought to myself
"what would my life have been
if I was as free like them?"
I knew I didn't have the wings
nor the beak as well as the feathers
we had noting alike!
A feeling started to dawn within me
sprouted from the seed
through jealousy a darkness arose
from suffering and misery
I felt over the years.
Those voices had me like a puppet
if they wish to have me dance
on the stage then so be it
breaking such was already tiring.
YOU ARE READING
Messages from the poets inquiry
شِعرThis is a book based about the poems I've written over the years and I'm still writing to this day in my free time. I'm in college so I've been busy🥲 There is some of my art as well. Please don't steal, thank you :) Warnings: - Blood - knife
