there's a demon living inside my head,
but she answers to my name,
she tells me stories late at night,
that are messing with my brain,
when i stand before a mirror,
she laughs at what i wear,
the freckles sprinkled on my face,
and the way i tie my hair.
do the people sitting on the train
fight these demons too?
the kind that makes you doubt yourself,
and tell you what to do,
maybe that's why they never talk.
because they are screaming inside their head,
why would you hate someone else,
when you can hate yourself instead?
-e.h
YOU ARE READING
Touch the Sky
Poetryfor anyone who has ever been told to get their heads out of the clouds.
