The Dying Poet's Dream

Crawling Within

There are things that crawl within
My skin...
Sometimes it burns,
It makes my stomach turn,
It makes me want to scrub
My skin off with a wire sponge.

Sometimes I feel like I'm outside of myself
Like a knickknack on a shelf
In my grandmother's living room.
Somehow I still manage to fall off the edge
To my doom.
It isn't that I never had control
But that mind takes on a heavy toll
Within my heart, within my soul,
Within my very essence!
If you understood my presence...
If you knew my heart
Or my mind, it would rip you apart.

I have spent my whole childhood
Fighting demons that were not mine,
Shedding my own blood
For the sake of simple state of mind!
What child deserves such a punishment?!
None. None at all but children like us
Are the ones who get singled out,
Who get picked on in the school bus.
Who are spat on when we cry for help.

There are things that crawl within
My skin...
Things that make me scream inside
And out but I am never heard
Despite
It all.
So, I sit quietly screaming at everyone in the halls
Wanting them to move,
Wanting to shove my way through
But that's not how it works.
People don't ask for kindness but they should
Because it would save a lot of heartache
For people like us.