Am I in the wrong, or am I in the right?
Can anyone hear my vulnerable plight?
Can they see through the glass shards, which I broke?
Can't they see my mouth? Have they realized that I spoke?
Sometimes I'm a child, or a useless reprobate,
they have no hope, so I have no fate,
they don't seem to see, though I reiterate again,
I'm getting tired of helplessness, and trying to feign.
I want to live, and feel; I want to smile,
But I'm a marionette on strings, my life is vile,
my skin is wooden, my eyes cannot see,
I have no name, I'm only me.
A window, I stare through, unmoving and silent,
I watch humanity, as they become more violent,
my dream is to help, and it's a rather irrelevant dream
because they incinerate it with fire, as happy as they seem.
they don't regard me as human, but I know I'm not,
I'm just a puppet, being left to rot.
my smile is painted, just like my life,
and my strings are chains, lethal as a knife.
No words are yet spoken, as I move a hand,
clandestine and destroyed, but on the window I land,
the ledge turns like an absurd twist in time,
vengeance, bittersweet, like the taste of green lime,
the strings of liberty snap with joy,
alas, I was once an immobile toy,
my wooden cheeks, pallor, human - like skin,
My heart no longer un-beating, like extraneous tin
no longer the puppet that watches with thirst,
I am now a human who is prioritised first.
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I just randomly thought of this at night, so take pity on me. :p Not my best one, but oh well.
YOU ARE READING
Reminisce
Poetry~ Words leak through minds, like too much ink does to paper. They spread silently like diseases and blossom like the non-existent amaranthine in spring. ~ (COVER NOT MINE) (All rights reserved) (A collection of rhyming poems. Part 2 out now) (Hig...
