Sometimes,
Life can make you feel like a smudge on the wall.
Never moving,
Faint,
Overlooked by all.
And when someone does notice you they think
What an ugly smudge,
It shouldn't be there.
And walk away.
On the occasion someone does stop,
It's just so they can fix you,
Covering you up with prettier baby blue paint,
And you sit,
People see you,
Or rather,
The baby blue paint that's covering up the perfectly fine smudge that is you.
But,
Eventually,
The stress of holding all that bright blue paint gets to you,
And it chips away until people see the smudge again,
And everything goes back to the way it was before.
This Cycle feels like it goes on forever,
Until someone comes with a hammer,
And that smudge breaks.
YOU ARE READING
Drowned By the Ashes
PoetryI don't remember when I started drowning. I was probably just born in the water. *TRIGGER WARNING!!!* My earliest poetry that evolved as time went by.
