It comes and goes.
That grey cloud.
You are immersed, swimming in angry storm clouds and whipping winds that isolate you on an island entirely of your own. I know how it feels. Subhuman, unimportant, words don't flow because your words aren't the same as the others around you. Not human. Not there.
It comes and goes.
Years went by, darling, I swear. My skies are the dawning rays of nine am today, and this afternoon might look rainy, and dark eventually comes for us all, but the sun shines... eventually. I make a lot of promises to those I love, but I wish your icy winds didn't capture my whispers of care. I wish you could hear me. I wish you were at that point of desperation to forage branches and fashion them into a makeshift boats, just so you could float closer. You aren't alone.
I promise.
And, sweetheart, that storm grey cloud might never leave. But eventually you won't be caught at the eye of the storm, and you might become amicable partners with your demons, and braid my good whispers with that old music box tune that catches you off guard sometimes. Remember that you are human. Remember that you are not perfect, and no one expects you to be perfect. Remember to accept your faults and learn from them, accept yourself. I don't expect you to do anything, but I wish all the best for you.
I truly do.
YOU ARE READING
People are People are People
PoetryA jazzy little collection of poems that were born to keep me a little bit sane. If you're into peeping in on someone's inner universe, then this is specially crafted with you in mind. As the poems go on, I get older, life gets harder, but the poetry...
