Held up by bones,
Constructed of Flesh,
Pulsing with blood.
Defined by actions.
Viewed by character.
Judged by looks.
Faking smiles.
A locked away book.
Pages wrinkled,
Words blurred.
A lock without a key,
Until someone can see,
There is a lot I rarely enjoy about being me.
My soul has evaporated,
Freely flowing with the wind.
My heart has crumbled,
No bandages to help it mend.
My weakness is hidden in a frown.
I always feel lonely,
A single tear from the eyes of a clown.
Spending more time isolated within myself,
Forgotten like a picture on the top shelf.
I’m a lonely tree set among a snowy mountain top,
Everyday wishing for the anxiety to stop.
Looking in the mirror portrays a depressing image,
The person reflecting back is not who I began with.
I’m imprisoned by my imperfections.
Every step has led me to a new direction.
I feel suffocated every day,
Lost among a never ending maze.