my world is passed by strangers
though their faces bear memories
the depths of their names ring out,
empty and undiscovered
I am a people pleaser, the shallowest of men
I listen to those who dream, and gain nothing in the end
I twist my words
to suit the desires of their open ears
they walk away satisfied
while my insides feel disquiet
I no longer recognize myself
my name lacks depth
my face holds no meaning
I am but another wisp in the crowd,
getting by with nothing circling through my character
my shadow has no substance
the parts I've played are soon forgotten
I am the one left behind
in the dust, here the shallow dump me
when they have no need of a person who will listen or care
my greatest fears were once to not be recognized
now my dismay lies in not knowing who I really am
my publicity is fabricated by those who need an angel
but who soon forget what good the light can do
I have developed from a lack of free will
I am but a hollow shell
I echo the weary voices
that rarely come my way
I yearn for a time
when I become someone with a personality to ignite
but dreams are the product of idle minds
so with the room I have to grow
where would I go?
YOU ARE READING
we live alone in our brains
PoesíaDo we grow up and find ourselves? Meaning that we only claim what has already been discovered? Or, do we get to create ourselves? Here is a collection of a lonely person's thoughts that explore these questions.