I am lost in the sensations
of my feelings.
It's like I'm drowning
but instead of suffocation
all I can feel is relish.
The only thing that feels constricting
are the expectations from the real world.
The guidelines set for mere survival
are the only things threatening to choke the life out of me.
I only find the feeling of belonging
in pen and paper.
The are my sole confidant;
A place where
I can weep through my words.
They hold my deepest ideas
Or just bubbly utterances.
My true personality lies between the pages of my diaries.
What does a person do
when paper is more forgiving than people?
YOU ARE READING
The Truths of a Liar
Poetry"She is sane, no matter how trapped she feels; if anything at least she is braver in pretense." All the poems I upload are written by me over the course of a few years (and still going). Highest Rank 1st April, 2018 - #61 (Not an April fool's joke �...
