These people around me are blind.
Whether by choice or ignorance
They can't see
The pain and sadness surrounding me.
I'm going through the motions of living
But I'm dead inside.
My joys and passions are but masks,
Shallow and fragile in their nature.
My very self cries out for a reason
To stop surviving and being
But an empty shell
Full of tears.
A cracked, scarred, and battered soul
Weeping for acknowledgement
And acceptance
From unseeing eyes.
The world is changing
And leaving me behind.
I have been left adrift,
Weighed down
By my perceived weakness and uniqueness.
Listing and limping
I continue,
ever falling short,
Always one step behind.
Deaf and blind they must be
For they do not see
Nor hear
My attempts to reach them.
I am lost in the nothingness
That comes
From being an individual.
It's not that they're deaf, blind, or uncaring.
Instead,
There is no one around.
I,
For being different,
Am alone.
YOU ARE READING
The Things Inside
PoesíaThis is a poetry book. I'll post anything I've written in this. Just fair warning, I've no idea what I'm writing and am not consistent at all.
