Keep marching on,
keep marching on,
I've kept everything inside,
trying to hide it, to support others.
In the end, it doesn't matter!
My struggle, my perseverance.
It all fell apart, its just a memory.
I had to fall to realize this truth, none of it matters.
I've lost my faith in humanity a long time ago,
how I still feel compassion is beyond me.
I'm tired of the way things have been,
you've been told what you cant do and been limited.
I've been told all the glorious things I was made for and am supposed to do,
I will always fall short and feel limited by the skin that confines the emotions that I wish would flow with the wind,
I dream of the day I can feel joy, something I've forgotten. The thing that others think represents me.
What a misnomer! I was this once, a long time ago.
No one knows what happened, I don't understand it, my inability to understand myself haunts me.
The things I say, all of it has a deeper meaning, if you actually looked for it!
Just like the rest, you refuse to see past the poor excuse of a mask I try to hide behind, maybe you know, thinking ignoring it like I do will solve the problem.
I DONT WANT TO HEAR HOW YOU CAN RELATE TO ME! I DONT WANT TO BE REMINDED THAT I AM BLESSED WITH SO MUCH AND MY ABILITY TO FEEL THE WAY I DO ABOUT LIFE IS A HIDDEN GIFT THAT OTHERS DONT HAVE! I KNOW THIS, THE REMINDERS YOU GIVE AND THE COMPARISIONS YOU SHOW BETWEEN ME AND YOU!!!! THEY DONT HELP! HOW CAN THEY?
THEY ONLY CONFIRM THE THING I REMIND MYSELF EVERYDAY: I am a monster.
You looked at all I said, I am, all I do, at face-value, how is this surprising, everyone does this eventually, reminding, I shouldn't trust people.
No matter what we do, we are human, we are sinners, and selfish in every way possible.
To show the tinniest bit of kindness is to show someone the face of God.
A face I cry for, and wish to see, as my demons hold my gaze.
Someone tries to step into the fight, an endless war, I wish to tell them that.
They don't listen, they don't think, the manifestation of a moody teenager, just like me but he wont shut up about his issues.
How does one talk so much about their struggles without feeling guilt on the deepest levels, in the deepest parts of their heart.
I wish I could afford such carelessness, then I realize, I could be brutally honest and no one would know.
YOU ARE READING
Metamorphasize
PoezieThis is a collection of poems written as a way to control a person's feelings; originally they were never intended to be seen by human eyes. This is written from the point of view of someone who struggles with emotional turmoil but feels they cannot...
