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Poetry

A collection of depressing poetry I've written. Not all of them are good, but they're real and I think that matters.

Real

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by knbbbb4

by knbbbb4

I keep thinking over and over again:

"Who am I?"

"Who can I trust?"

"What is real?"

I thought I knew who I was but I'm starting lose it.

It's like my identity is slipping through my fingertips, even though I'm desperately trying to hold onto it.

Yet it still keeps slipping.

"You don't know the real me." She said.

I laughed thinking it was a joke, but she was serious.

"But you're my best friend." I thought.

If I don't know the real you, how can I be friends with you?

Have you been faking it this whole time?

Inconsistent.

Prideful.

Judgmental.

Superior.

That's the real you.