In this place called
“My World”
I do often wonder,
Why I should have
The power
Of realization.
What I once thought
To be manic insanity,
I found was
Simply hidden depression.
In this place called
“My World”
I hate it here.
I hate the real world.
Anyone could say
And probably does say
I’m just in angst.
Do I look normal to you?
Why would I associate
With what you call
Angst?
In this place called
“My World”
They say I have control
But why fall under common demand?
I am bored here.
I’ve found more of myself,
However,
In this place.
So why do I not
Follow expectation?
Because
In this place called
“My World,”
I am told many things,
But I have choice to listen
Or not.
I am frustrated to say
That I cannot even say I am
Frustrated.
In this place called
“My World”
“Clinic suppression!”
Are far outcries.
Blame.
Jealousy.
Back stabbing.
It’s all classic,
In this stupid place.
In this place called
“My World”
Why can’t you see
I’m not angry?
I am collected,
Who are you to say what I am?
This to anyone
Just looks like
A rebellious outburst.
But if you’d read in-between the lines,
You’d see it isn’t-
At All.
In this place called
“My World”
Loathing corrupts,
Traditionally speaking:
Insanity!
Insanity, you fool,
You are lark!
Don’t speak of ignorance,
When you yourself
Know any fool’s game.
In this place called
“My World”
My fears,
My sins,
Are kept to me,
A part of me,
To make me whole,
As my own being.
I am
As God says,
And nothing else.
But only here . . . in “My World”