I, do not know, who I am, among these peers of mine.
I, am presumed to be many people I want to be, but cannot fully.
Trapped in a big room,
Filled with the noise of silence.
But, who am I,
I ask myself, looking in my reflection of the tall, broken mirror,
My green glistening eyes,
Staring back at me.
My disguise, is my escape,
That I put on everyday to others, and myself,
So I am not causing anger,
Sadness, distress,
Or pure hatred, towards me.
For that, is what I fear most.
But, in this universe upon many more,
I am just a damaged infant, a speck of an atom,
In this humongous place,
Filled with clocks with cheap band-aids covering them,
Ticking, slowly and painfully.
Over the course of my existence,
I realize that my significant insignificance,
Lasts forever,
Or no time at all.
Now, I ask again.
Who am I?
As I look back with red in my cheeks,
The bloodshot in my eyes,
The streaming black and clear tears, covering me, and exposing me,
I still, don't have a particular clue.
But, never minded from my thoughts,
Feelings and persona,
I am just an aging clock,
With a few cheap band-aids,
That can hopefully be fixed.
I, am me.
I am so far at this point.
Knowing my existence and my name, as who I am.
But, I still am not sure, who that is, quite yet.
Hopefully, I can find out, in no time at all,
But would not mind, forever of a journey.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
ПоэзияThis is going to be a place where I write out all of my hidden feelings into poems. When I write them, they help me express how I feel inside, and help me along. If you relate, I'm here for you.