I watch the world, their perfect show,
Faces painted, confidence aglow.
But beneath the surface, they're just like me,
Insecure, afraid, lost at sea.
Yet somehow, the world lets them belong,
Embraces their flaws, sings their song.
But what of me, who sees the truth,
Who knows
I'm imperfect, broken,
Not fit to love, or to be loved.
While they speak in circles, fill the air,
I sit in silence, too much to bear.
I choose the quiet, the lonely path,
Avoid the noise, escape the noise.
Days pass by in a fading light,
I long for the end, the final night.
I spend my days in a desperate plea,
To end it all, to set me free.
For in that end, I’ll find my way,
Where meaning dawns as night turns day.
For what is life to one like me,
A shadow of what should be?
An imperfect human, lost and bent,
Finds meaning only when it's spent.
I don't know I just started to write this when I was feeling down and depressed
