i'm tired of being boiled down
to my barest, simplest parts,
and compromised beyond my core.
my facets ignored as if repugnant
or strange--
as if all i can ever be is what portait
painted itself.
to yell into an unyielding void
and be met with a stiff and resounding silence.
to be so resounding unheard despite
sheer and shrieking volume.
to exist in a space where metaphor scarcely follows for fear that truth will dilute it.
what importance did it ever hold?
it was all a cry.
and no one heard.
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC
i'm tired of being boiled down
to my barest, simplest parts,
and compromised beyond my core.
my facets ignored as if repugnant
or strange--
as if all i can ever be is what portait
painted itself.
to yell into an unyielding void
and be met with a stiff and resounding silence.
to be so resounding unheard despite
sheer and shrieking volume.
to exist in a space where metaphor scarcely follows for fear that truth will dilute it.
what importance did it ever hold?
it was all a cry.
and no one heard.
Request permission to use this poem