Being isolated in a full crowd is the worst feeling.
How is it that I am in a class yet
Homeschooled at the same time?
How is it that I am in a family
yet feel orphaned?
Life is purely ironic in that sense.
Hello. My name is sorry. I live in sorryville.
I'm sorry I am not your idea of a beautiful, intelligent young girl.
The way my parents stare at me, with that weird smile on their face.
You are not weird, people just don't understand!
I am tired of lies.
When I talk, I can see them not paying attention
The only time I am interesting is when
I am bitter
When I lose myself in the hatred
in the so seductive hold of irrational feelings
when I let myself
g
o.
That is when I am suddenly in the spotlight.
But
How can I blame them when I am so unique that
I am like a kitten that is so adorable
It needs to be killed off.
Hello. My name is sorry. I live in sorryville.
I bathe in apologies.
My heartbeat is simply sorry.
imsorryimsorryimsorry
My rhythm. My words.
They all hold it behind them
like a gun being held to a captive's head.
Of course
The only way I can feel like them
is if I sink into the pool of rumors
of parties that are a distraction from the constant worries
we
all
experience.
The difference between them and me is
despite how they treat me
despite their horrid words
I will become more than they ever will.
Hello. My name is sorry.
And I am ready to rise on top.
YOU ARE READING
The Constant Battle
Poetry"If someone finds this, know nothing could have been done to make me feel whole again." -D.W
