Soul is the thing that everyone is born with, yet not everyone has.
A soul decides if you give that dollar to the homeless man or spend it on a bet on whether or not the Bears are going to win.
Here's a tip. They won't.
A soul shines when it feels love. And it fades when it feels depressed.
A soul is always suppressed. It's put below the heart, yet it's not in the chest.
A soul is what humans use to sing with, but only when God is telling them to plead the fifth.
A soul is what makes me scream at the top of my lungs when my heart can no longer speak.
A soul is why I stopped screaming. A soul doesn't dare peak.
A soul is what I don't carry because someone will come along and demand my love, but I'll have none to share.
My soul is a shade of gray that was once a vibrant blue. It was beaten until the color would not show and then it was burned by its host, afraid that if that soul began to show blue, it would want the most.
A soul can be described as "the thing everyone has, but the thing people find that they don't need."
The reason why people are filled with greed and the reason why prisoners cry once they are freed and the reason why mothers die when their children are shot in the streets is the reason why I no longer wish to see the world for what it is and what it has seen.
My soul will not be missed. My pain will be dismissed and as I write this, I make fists and as I read this my heart will twist and I will wonder why I ever dared set foot on caring soil.
My soul cannot take this turmoil.
A soul is what everyone has but not everyone wants. Simple as that, now I'm done.
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryThis is a book I write in to relieve my mind of the horror it creates for itself. Poems or not, they're words. Definitions or examples, they're words. My words. Read it or not, they're my words.
