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viniviniverdePoems
I look in the mirror and I see a face. It's a young man's face. He's got brown eyes. His skin is the lightest of browns. His face is round And his chin has the slightest cleft And his hair is short and black. He is average in every way. And sometimes, But only sometimes, He is handsome. But I don't feel like him. I don't feel like anyone. What does it mean to be human? I can't be one, otherwise I'd understand. Right? But I have emotions, They just work differently than most. They're stronger Less restricted And more raw. Perhaps that is why I'm weak. My anger is angrier And my sadness is sadder Happiness hides in its corner. For fear of its own destruction Upon the slightest emergence. The Hurt is more painful. Paper cuts deep into my bone. My nerves are raw and exposed For everyone to attack And so I lash out. Because I am hurt. So I must hurt others, Those who hurt me. But then I'm pierced By disapproving glares. Because what I did was wrong. But hurting me, that was okay. The moral choice, even. So how can I be human When I am clearly so different, So angry, So sensitive, So wrong? And why do I see this human face In the mirror?
0
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
Human
I look in the mirror and I see a face. It's a young man's face. He's got brown eyes. His skin is the lightest of browns. His face is round And his chin has the slightest cleft And his hair is short and black. He is average in every way. And sometimes, But only sometimes, He is handsome. But I don't feel like him. I don't feel like anyone. What does it mean to be human? I can't be one, otherwise I'd understand. Right? But I have emotions, They just work differently than most. They're stronger Less restricted And more raw. Perhaps that is why I'm weak. My anger is angrier And my sadness is sadder Happiness hides in its corner. For fear of its own destruction Upon the slightest emergence. The Hurt is more painful. Paper cuts deep into my bone. My nerves are raw and exposed For everyone to attack And so I lash out. Because I am hurt. So I must hurt others, Those who hurt me. But then I'm pierced By disapproving glares. Because what I did was wrong. But hurting me, that was okay. The moral choice, even. So how can I be human When I am clearly so different, So angry, So sensitive, So wrong? And why do I see this human face In the mirror?
viniviniverde
Written by
viniviniverde
American
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
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