Pencils, pens and papers all around me.
Up on the mountain are the stars decorating it.
I lay asleep on my cold desk.
Even when my bed is just a few feet away.
They tell you you're lazy.
They tell you you're a hopeless case.
They tell you to work harder.
And push you to winning the race.
But they forget something.
They tell you so much, but have they ever listened?
Perhaps, that's what turns me into a misanthrope.
And yet, it is surprising to see,
That it is this human contact that makes me myself again.
When they decide to listen.
Every time I move forward into the darkness by a step,
I seem to be pulled back twice.
Sometimes it's the opposite,
And sometimes I don't feel a pull.
Know that I am grateful,
It is enough that you said or did.
I might not like it then,
But take it from my heart,
I am grateful.
YOU ARE READING
A Poet's Fantasy
PoetryThis book contains all the poems (and a few short stories) I've written and am writing, hope y'all like them! :)
