Sep 2019
Left or right?
A treat of minds delight.
There is nothing left to write,
Words mean nothing.
Unless specifically ordered,
To mean something.
Like,
Since when did stress,
Become this monster forcing me to dress
Like her because she's liked.
Here's the thing,
Sometimes I think, maybe I can do this.
Just one blink, a moment to quickly pass.
I can do... This.
You know?
But not even if one thing is wrong,
Words turn stress into the monster.
Why can't I be like her?
Why can't I ever be like her?...
Perfect.
But this monster does not leave.
No, sometimes I have to convince myself,
That maybe dreams come true.
And just like most of my happy memories,
That this monster will go away too.
But that little girl inside,
Inside of me, is better off dead.
For she already died when I realised,
People only care about the outside.
Yeah, on the inside she's dead,
Cause all good things come to an end.
Right?
But outside, it's so easy to fake,
A smile, fake a laugh.
Oh it's all a lie, but you ask why?...
Because everyday I have to push away,
my anxiety and say goodbye.
But like a good friend it comes back,
And says hi...
And then I'm scared.
That the whispers will come back.
Just sometimes I think,
Maybe if nothing changed when I was nine,
I would be just... fine.
But I'm fine, you know?
Using my smile as make up.
Just so I can show up - happy?
No, I am still a child,
And the whispers that once flaunted me,
Now haunt me with,
Muffled, misunderstood, murmured, meticulous, murderous, memories.
And what's left?
Left of myself after everything,
That I've been through...
Just lead to the conclusion,
That the little girl I was became snuffed out,
Not by darkness but by others light.
And concluded that all people care about,
Is their sight...
But I'm not much to look at,
Right?
I am but, broken hearted,
Promises,
Broken bones, burnt, bunched in bundles,
Buried deep within my complex,
Mind, body, soul...
But sooner or later,
By one or another,
I will be manipulated to be used,
For man's malicious intent again...
And nothing will be left,
But my minds' midnight delights...
A treat of minds delight.
There is nothing left to write,
Words mean nothing.
Unless specifically ordered,
To mean something.
Like,
Since when did stress,
Become this monster forcing me to dress
Like her because she's liked.
Here's the thing,
Sometimes I think, maybe I can do this.
Just one blink, a moment to quickly pass.
I can do... This.
You know?
But not even if one thing is wrong,
Words turn stress into the monster.
Why can't I be like her?
Why can't I ever be like her?...
Perfect.
But this monster does not leave.
No, sometimes I have to convince myself,
That maybe dreams come true.
And just like most of my happy memories,
That this monster will go away too.
But that little girl inside,
Inside of me, is better off dead.
For she already died when I realised,
People only care about the outside.
Yeah, on the inside she's dead,
Cause all good things come to an end.
Right?
But outside, it's so easy to fake,
A smile, fake a laugh.
Oh it's all a lie, but you ask why?...
Because everyday I have to push away,
my anxiety and say goodbye.
But like a good friend it comes back,
And says hi...
And then I'm scared.
That the whispers will come back.
Just sometimes I think,
Maybe if nothing changed when I was nine,
I would be just... fine.
But I'm fine, you know?
Using my smile as make up.
Just so I can show up - happy?
No, I am still a child,
And the whispers that once flaunted me,
Now haunt me with,
Muffled, misunderstood, murmured, meticulous, murderous, memories.
And what's left?
Left of myself after everything,
That I've been through...
Just lead to the conclusion,
That the little girl I was became snuffed out,
Not by darkness but by others light.
And concluded that all people care about,
Is their sight...
But I'm not much to look at,
Right?
I am but, broken hearted,
Promises,
Broken bones, burnt, bunched in bundles,
Buried deep within my complex,
Mind, body, soul...
But sooner or later,
By one or another,
I will be manipulated to be used,
For man's malicious intent again...
And nothing will be left,
But my minds' midnight delights...
Sorry for such the big poem... it's supposed to be spoken but I wanted to share it! Thanks for listening to my rants through words and poetry.
