Every morning when I wake up
Every night when I go to sleep
Whenever I'm with friends
And whenever I'm alone.
Every time the lights turn on
And every time they go back off
Every time sound surrounds me
And every time I sit in silence.
It's always there
In the back of my mind
Or in the front
It doesn't matter where, but it's there
Always.
And because it's always there,
Nothing feels the same.
Nothing feels right,
And yet nothing feels wrong.
It was compressed
Forced down and down
For so long it was just dormant
And now I've set it free.
It feels bad,
But then it feels good,
But then it feels wrong,
But then it feels right,
But then it feels fake,
But then it feels real.
But then I wonder,
Will I feel the same?
Will anything come of it?
Will I suppress it again?
But I feel sure,
I feel sure that it will always be there,
I can just kind of tell,
It's the feeling it gives me.
It must be right,
I want it to be right,
I know the answer but I ask myself,
What To Feel.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryI don't know what I'm going to do the day my classmates find this, but until then I'm going to secretly enjoy poetry and there's nothing anybody can do about it. Also, I'll try my best not to be pompous because sometimes my poetry comes off as such...
