Tell me something, have you ever felt that what you see isn't real?
What you're dreaming doesn't feel like a dream at all? That's all real.
Those tears you're crying could possibly mean that you're lying and that every single time you tell someone that you've been trying they bury you deeper in the file marked "liars".
I dropped out of life when I was 18. I didn't have a dream.
No goal to fall back on, no rack to relax your back on.
Too afraid to have a spine because you're so use to having your back gone.
I never told my mother that when I was a kid I use to get bullied. Because that's all I ever thought my future would be.
I fought so many wars inside my own mind, I guess you could call me a veteran.
Never mind that, don't call me a veteran. Cause while they're out protecting me, here I am, in this bed I sit.
And all these meds I get are suppose to help me shift into the world known as society, but just like an alcoholic, that could never work. Not big on sobriety.
And while you're sitting there with your eyes glued to these pages and focusing on what made me write this and put it on a stage, think back to the last time you felt locked away.
Think about all the times you felt you strayed. All the times you stayed away. All the times you put yourself inside of a cage and told yourself it was better this way.
Think about all the times you've ever lied. All the times you've ever cried. All the times you ever felt like you were dead inside and ask yourself one question.
Who am I?
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryThis is a book I write in to relieve my mind of the horror it creates for itself. Poems or not, they're words. Definitions or examples, they're words. My words. Read it or not, they're my words.
