Lately,
I've been feeling rather uninspired,
In a way that I can't even brush my hair,
Without missing at least half of it.
Trying to help others,
Through the ocean of life,
When I, myself,
Am too far under the surface to be helped.
Maybe I'm selfish by sharing this,
Making others feel worse,
And making others relapse,
And destroying what I'll never have.
But I can't be,
Because I'm admitting my faults,
And I know I'm in the wrong,
Once again.
But I swear I'm trying to swim my way,
Up to the surface,
But it's hard when I've got shackles on my legs,
And everyone keeps on adding bricks into my fractured arms.
I can't even say I like my poetry anymore,
I can't be bothered to ryhme or be metaphorical,
And it feels as if I'm only half trying,
To improve.
How can I even be me,
If I don't like my life?
Or myself?
And the feeling of only being half-fixed?
I suppose it makes them feel better,
They pulled me to the surface,
But pushed my head below it,
So I can fall back under again.
But here I am,
Broken and bruised,
Waiting for love and the empathy that follows,
Rambling once again.
YOU ARE READING
Swallows- A Poetry Collection
Poetry~My heart soars with the swallows... ~ Swallows- "Peaceful, Loving and full of Hope..." - What I wish I could be... ~This is a collection of the words I was never able to say~ Thank you to everyone who reads thi...
