Who am I without the people around me?
without the music that I transfuse into my bloodstream
without the words my eyes fall asleep on and stay awake on
These are the things that make me aren't they?
I've been told to know who I am on my own
but on my own means with no one
and with no one I am no one.
My existence craves people
I am not really me
not really me without the music that I've fallen for
the melodies and harmonies that rise and deflate my lungs
My life is not life without music
My presence is nothing but air
without the words written and spoken by me
by others that i read and believe
there's a word for everything you know
A series of constantly changing choices and circumstances
Is what most would think
Theologically It's predestined
but is it really? Or isn't it?
Because my choices seem to be my own
my voice seems to be my own
but the times and places are already set
an it feels like I am so unreal and yet painfully real too.
YOU ARE READING
Words for the Contradictions
Poetry"Here's to all the living, breathing contradictions trying to fit into a world that hates them affectionately and loves them indifferently."~unknown
