Bullet,
To my soul.
That's what your words are to me.
Fool, you call me.
Idiot, I am to you.
Dumb, you say to me.
And I don't seem to get anything right.
I hate you, I want to say.
I don't need you, I think.
But you hold me like a puppet.
After all, you pay the bills.
I can't tell how it is with you.
Sometimes, you love me.
Most times, you despise me.
You boast of me to your peers,
They feel happy for you,
Other children, feel envious of me,
They don't know what I see.
I cry every night.
I don't tell you shit.
I die everytime.
You don't seem to see.
I don't even have a home.
Just a make believe fiction.
You don't know how much I cry at school.
Because, at least I'll find comfort.
Isn't it a shame that strangers comfort me?
How should I tell you,
That I want to run away?
Isn't it a shame that
I prefer friends to ' family '?
And you make me cry the most?
I try.
I try to understand.
I try to understand your perspective.
But I don't see why I deserve
such treatments.
Your words, they are.
You words are like bullets to my soul.
And I hope, soon enough that the hate in them
will be enough to kill me.
YOU ARE READING
In My Head | ✓
PoetryIn my head, there are a million things I'd wish I could say. A million things I realize. But the courage I have not birthed to say them aloud. Just a girl who feels too much, sees too much, hears to much and an obsession of curiosity. In a world w...
