All of my poetry feels the same.
But, what is to blame?
Is it what I feel?
Is it the reoccurring events in my life?
Is it who I am?
All of my friends are liars.
I've been thrown into the fire.
Again.
In my head a voice rings.
Telling me,
That nobody likes me.
And its been telling me this for a long time.
And so, I have become a mime.
Stuck in a box.
Oh, what a paradox.
An invisible voice locking someone in an invisible box.