The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

This is a poem for the ones who go unseen,
the ones who go unnoticed,
Who go through their life in a quiet reverie
Though they are of few words
There entire life is a dream
They don't get an influx of likes on social media,
No one is begging them for dates
They just do what they need to do,
While blending nicely into the background
Their minds are loud
But there lips refuse to make a sound

This is for the ones
Who think they don't belong
No one can see their pain
Because no one looks close enough these days
We're a surface level generation
Praising fool's gold
We fill our mind's with aggravation
And our lives are either extremes
of mania or stagnation
But then there are the unseen
Still reveling in all the simple things
They are the unobtrusive rebels of society,
The true rebels really
For they don't rebel on Instagram
They rebel, unwittingly,
For everything they do
Is in opposition to popular culture

I write this
To remind you all
To not overlook the underdog,
For they are the most riveting of people
Though they don't build a personal brand and a steeple
To advertise their life
They are the most genuine folk
Without a lick of pride

I haven't always been so cognizant
of the underdog's pain
I connect with them the most, of course
Because they really listen to me, and make room for my authenticity
But at times I've chosen to be vain
Ditching the underdog for the "cooler" crowd,
And all for social gain
And yet, surrounded by people with whom I do not have a sense of belonging
Loneliness echoes in my heart,
And it amplifies when I'm trying to fit in
It leads to deafening silence
And in the dead of night, hours of crying

But you don't need to be born an underdog
To change this social conditioning
For our whole lives our culture has programmed us to be on a mission,
To be better, more efficient
So we can gain success, so we can have superficial love
We're not merely automaton's with minds
We're sentient beings, with hearts that need to love
And *we're alive

I read a quote somewhere that said,
"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."

And I felt those words shoot through every nerve in my body. I felt them so deeply.

And I wonder how many of us feel the same way.

How many nights we fought off the suicidal thoughts, the urge to cut, the urge to purge, the urge to run or to hide out, alone, too afraid to worry or bother our friends and family.

How many days and nights have we all suffered in our own darkness alone?

People like us fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.

I've fought myself and survived myself alone so many nights.

There were nights I use to lose my own battle. But some how still came out alive.

I guess that's how we keep going. Because every time we give up we come out stronger.

You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.

We're warriors.

"I don't know how many times I've survived myself, without telling anyone else."

Tonight, I'm telling all of you.

I survived myself.

And if you're still here and you're reading this, you survived yourself too.

It's not easy but you did it.

And I'm so proud of you all.