Lost
I feel lost
When I'm supposed to be found
Surrounded by people who don't get how
I smile to those who look
But when I turn around
It fades like those jeans of mine
Who knew I was built to be happy
Even when I want to so badly
Do what they say
Follow every command
Like a dog feeding out of masters hand
Sit, stay, yeild
Common words I hear
Daily occurrences
I seem to face
With that smile on my face
I try to keep occupied
So I don't have to face the madness
I call my sadness
It comes and goes like the winter snow
Piling up until it's gone
But leaves trails
Of what was once there
Not understanding it shouldn't be there
Like me lost in the world
Searching for that way out
YOU ARE READING
Vintagely Me
Poetryvin•tage (noun) the year or place in which wine, especially wine of high quality, was produced.
