I'm there but I'm not,
I'm a war that's already been fought,
When I look at myself I get lost in thought,
I tend to be self-conscious a lot.
I may be a skeptic,
For my life can be hectic,
And my life is epileptic,
That's why I tend to feel so septic.
Am I even real?
Can I really feel?
My mind is way too surreal,
For reality to somehow appeal.
Is my skin what binds me?
Or is it my shadow behind me?
My pondering always blinds me,
And nobody ever finds me.
Is it psychotic,
To always feel hypnotic,
Never there,
But just catatonic?
Do I suffer from dreaming?
Never planning, always scheming?
Is my head too dangerous to hold,
Such a curious mind so bold?
I'm not paralyzed by fear,
But by the fact I'm even here.
'Cause when I look into the mirror,
I only see a reflection of myself clearer.
But I never used to look so severe,
I was never afraid of how I might appear,
And even now I can still hear,
Why my friends still hold me quite dear.
From a different perspective,
I think in another directive,
Self-appreciation is always effective,
Against labelling yourself defective.
And if I'm sad, it's not depression,
It's just my hormonal recession.
If I daydream, it's not some hallucination,
I was created to feed my imagination.
Take a good long look at your reflection,
Your beauty matches your perfect symmetrical imperfection,
But we were not made for self-rejection,
Portrayed upon us by the world's deception,
We must have a higher inception,
Of ourselves and our very own skeptical comprehension.
YOU ARE READING
Stained Hearts
PoetryMy first book of poetry, consisting of prose poetry and rhymes. Just a collection of thoughts and experiences translated into whimsical poetry, made specifically for your poetic appetite. Mostly I write about nature, time, a bit of love and...
