I once found the end of the rainbow.
It wasn't a pot of gold.
It wasn't luck either.
It was an empty promise of riches and grandeur.
Much like my own personal motives.
The end of the rainbow is almost as mystical as success itself.
Much like the success that I want within my heart that's shattered into thousands of pieces.
Each piece following a new story but none of them aligning.
My heart is like a pot of gold that was found out to be fake.
My heart is worth as much as a penny from the 30s and I can't change that.
No pun intended.
Though the uselessness of my heart is insanely shunned upon.
Those who believe that my heart contains a rainbow and happiness are wrong and ought to smack themselves.
I'm nowhere near happy or filled with glee.
I'm broken and lost.
I can't make up my mind.
I can't seem to coexist.
I'm just a tall tale of a pot of gold.
Like a rainbow, I don't really exist.
But thought it nice.
YOU ARE READING
Dreams Over Reality
PoetryA compliation of poems and skits. The skits are no longer being continued. Most poems are about me and the events around me. Read my story This is my story.
