If I had to think of one phrase to describe me,
It would be: “I feel…deeply.”
Happy to sad,
Melancholy to glad,
The good days feel amazing,
And the bad days feel…bad.
But I feel…deeply.

Sitting in a room full of people I’ve seen,
Talked with, greeted, and shared some things.
Yet, I still feel like a stranger,
Who wandered somewhere I shouldn’t be.
This lonely feeling,
I feel it…deeply.

Friends who’ve moved on,
Without a second thought,
Leaving me to fend for myself.
“Who needs anyone else?”
I’ll say to myself to muffle my grief,
But I still feel it…deeply.

Helplessness, entrapment,
All fueled by anxiety.
I gnaw at the ropes,
Trying desperately to break free,
With what little I control,
I guess I just go with the flow.
As I weep,
Because I feel…deeply.

Perhaps, I’m too different.
Perhaps, I’m not enough.
Perhaps, I’m just forgettable,
Perhaps, that’s all I ever was.
These fictitious thoughts creep into my reality,
As I feel…deeply.

I wish I were normal,
I wish I fit in,
And I wish I wasn’t abnormal,
But a normal bystander instead.
I know there’s only one of me,
And I should be the best me I can be,
But sometimes, it feels like,
I can’t even be me…right.
This, I feel…deeply.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t think,
Sometimes I wish I were less advanced.
Would it be easier,
Or would it be harder then?
Why does everyone around me seem to function like they’re fine,
While I’m struggling and crumbling on the inside?
Life never said it was going to be fair.
I just wish I didn’t care.
But instead, I drown in an ocean, searching for meaning,
This I feel…deeply.

What am I to do?
What am I to say?
“This is who I am.”
And go on with my day?
Sometimes I hate how I am,
My biggest hater is myself,
And no one else.
Though it’s easier to assume they do.
Even if it’s not the truth.
Sometimes I wonder how my life would be,
If I didn’t feel so…deeply.

I’m not afraid of heights, but of the fall.
I’m not afraid of addiction, but of the withdrawals.
I wish I could stop these circling thoughts,
But they keep on spinning.
I’m not afraid of imperfection, but of failure,
Miserably luring me,
To an askew belief.
If I fail once, was I a failure all along?
Can I do anything right?
Just add it to the tally,
Ever growing.
Another note to my somber song.
I’m not afraid to die, but of saying goodbye.
These thoughts, while dark sometimes,
I’d give everything to think of them one last time.
These fears remind me that I’m alive.
I’m not afraid of people, but of being judged.
Anxiety plunging me,
Into fictitious security.
Perhaps, I’m better off on my own,
All alone.
But you lose the chance to form connections,
To enjoy the people that surround you.
Perhaps, I should stop playing this game,
And admit that I am very much afraid.

Pluto floated somberly in his orbit that was askew,
Pondering the privilege that had been taken from his view.
He once was a part of the cool kids club.
Now just a floating rock.
Pluto remembered it vividly,
The moment a human discovered him initially.
Oh, how it filled him with such glee,
If only temporarily.
Jupiter was the biggest bully,
Chastised Pluto for his size,
Not that he could help it at all.
It gave the planets a point to talk.
Saturn and Neptune rolled their eyes.
Who was this ‘moon’ trying to join in on their fun?
Mercury screamed its disproval,
As it was blinded by the Sun.
Mars and Venus were indifferent,
And Uranus was Pluto’s one defendant.
Finally, the humans on Earth gave their verdict.
Pluto didn’t meet the criteria to be a planet.
He was immediately shunned,
His dwarf planet status had begun.
Not even the light from the Sun,
Cared to reach him at the edge of the solar system.
Pluto started to cry,
When Eris and Haumea floated by.
They lifted Pluto’s eyes.
Perhaps being chastised,
Was a blessing in disguise.

Vain loved his vanity,
From which he gazed at his vanity,
One might call it insanity,
Or self-centered depravity.
He loved the color in his eyes,
The prettiest blue, he surmised.
He praised the scar on his left thigh,
Despite its fracture in his picture-perfect guise.
He took another selfie,
To boast about his vanity,
But little did he know,
All he had to show,
Were about a million fans who loved his body,
And turned that into his entire personality.
One day, Vain woke up,
There were no comments on his post.
Something was amok,
It was as if he were a ghost.
Someone new had come onto the block,
A gorgeous girl named Guinevere.
Her post had put him into shock,
As his body shook with fear.
He quickly posed and took a selfie,
His fans rushed back only temporarily.
If he lost his purpose,
That meant the voices weren’t wrong when they called him worthless.
How could he deserve this?
Vain’s vanity was one of his biggest curses.
Guinevere won in the end,
She got the fans, the money, and all the fake friends.
Vain was gutted,
His heart was broken.
Was this preordained?
Was all of Vain’s vanity in vain?

I once was kidnapped by Dracula,
He took me to his castle in Transylvania,
Which, by the way, is in Romania,
In case you didn’t know.
He chained me to the wall,
Slapped me, cutting me with his claws,
Before he decided to withdraw,
And sit on his throne.
I said,
“I think there’s a misunderstanding between us.
This bad blood isn’t anything serious,
Sure, I was wrong for being too envious,
But, please, don’t do anything heinous.
I’ll apologize,
Just spare my life,
Is this quarrel worth a fight?
Let’s rationalize instead.”
Dracula laughed,
Lightning cracked,
Followed by a thunderclap,
As if the world were terrified.
He walked over and held my face,
Squeezing it tightly, causing me pain,
He smiled, showing off his bloodied fangs.
I started to cry.
He said,
“You think this is just bad blood,
Like when a loving couple breaks up?
You’re tempting me with that smell of strawberry,
And I’m fighting the urge to feed on your blood.
This isn’t some game you play,
You said some awful things,
But when I bite back, you claim an attack,
And suddenly I’m the one who’s deranged?”
He laughed,
I didn’t talk back.
He was right, I was wrong,
I had been all along.
And now I was face to face,
With the monster I created, due to my mistakes.

Russel was given the nickname ‘Knowsy’,
Because he knew just about anything.
If the signs weren’t apparent, like the glasses on his nose,
Russel was a nerd, and believe me, Russel knows.
Whenever someone needed help on a test,
“Russel knows,” and he dealt with the rest.
When the **** needed to finish his homework,
“Russel knows,” and then the **** forced him to work.
Oh, the curse of knowledge,
How the nerd turns from a laughing stock to a precious commodity.
Reduced from a human,
To a know-it-all without an identity beyond his brain.
Russel hated how he knew this pain.
Haley needed a favor,
An assignment was due,
And she couldn’t afford to fail.
So she went to Russel,
Not knowing about his crush,
Would his heart prevail?
He was skeptical,
Why was the prettiest girl in the world talking to him?
He had envisioned this in his head,
But it was only hypothetical.
Russel knew that it was too good to be true,
When the first words she said were,
“What did you get on number two?”
He was being used…again.
Russel knows how it feels to have your smarts be used against you.
Russel knows how knowledge can wound you.
Russel knows these things to be true.

Ouroboros lived in a forest,
He could’ve been like anyone before us.
He lived his life filled with pride,
Masking plenty of issues on the inside.
Ouroboros always believed he was in the right,
Despite the many times he was on the wrong side,
He lived his life filled with pride.
A constant cycle,
In the shape of a circle.
He never learned from his mistakes,
He just brushed them off onto another day,
His friends and family wished he would change,
But he remained the same.
Ouroboros lived in a forest,
He convinced himself that it wasn’t due to his poor choices.
He could’ve been like anyone before us,
Poor Ouroboros.
A constant cycle of believing you're constantly in the right,
A never-ending circle consistently spinning because of pride.
Is it worth it to throw everything on the line,
Just because you can’t accept that your side,
Of the issue isn’t the only one on people’s minds?
Poor Ouroboros,
A somber chorus,
And the poor forest can’t ignore his cries.
All this strife due to pride.