what is it called when you write but never want anyone to understand. am i selfish- elitist a fraud. or am i- a coward. the human heart. is a poem i am not. an author. i am not the ink. not the curves. the rhyme. do not read into me- i am simply alive.
you dip, you turn, you smudge, but yet you seem still and desolate, vibrant colours from your reflection, smothered by the disease of life, it injects itself into everyone but, people know not of its presence; you seem to be the only one.
i feel trapped caged in my own thoughts people are staring at me watching me dance for them in my cage can’t they see i’m starving tired of the attention but they won’t help me i’m trapped in my head captured in a cage of my own making