Question

The world of unknown

Do those who write,

Desire to live the written?

Do I who cry,

Desire a world much easier?

Do the clouds who move and change,

Desire to stay and be still?

Do the men and women of this world,

Really need to be so different?

Do the stars shine brighter where you stand,

Or do they follow me?

Can't I be beautiful,

Or did God doom me before birth?

Was I ruined from the start of my very first cell,

My mind rotting slowly as I aged?

Maybe if I get cooler,

More people will want me?

      - a haunting yet undo-able thought

How come we love,

The ones that can't?,

The one's in love with someone better,

    - Perhaps more attractive,

Or mentally stunning.

Well I say give me attention,

Your never ending attention,

Show you care through you're efforts,

And tries

Blow me away by embracing the me,

That is stuck and tucked away,

The part that is waiting for a few more days,

No more than a few more living days

Does one feel sad,

Or happy?

            - You've might have never noticed the saddest person as they are usually the ones with the greatest smile. And the happiest person may have the poorest life.

            - We, me and you live in a world truly large and desperate, sad and eye opening,

Some will do whatever it takes to get to the top of this neverending list of people better than everyone, the road to success is endless.

            - This eternal sadness I reside in is endless, I feel my feelings are so strong that I am truly crazy and I deserve to be ended. I feel that my life is a piece of this whirl and I just endure it every single day and falling night.

             - "I want to be happy", one of the saddest things to say, given the one saying it isn't currently happy and can't obtain it.

             -But does the great lie in the unknown, 

is a great still great if his greatness is unknown?

May I be happy,

Wherever my future may be?

Listening and creaking behind some alley,

Following my fate,

Laughing at my wasted tries of changing it.

I'm comfy in my doom,

And is it weird that,

In some ways I love it,

              - That sometimes I find love and beauty in the ugly or extremely flawed?

Justify your opinion,

Insulting me for being myself

              - Then maybe I'll justify trying to be someone else

Do those who write,

Desire to live the written?

Do I who cry,

Desire a world much easier?

Do the clouds who move and change,

Desire to stay and be still?

Do the men and women of this world,

Really need to be so different?

Do the stars shine brighter where you stand,

Or do they follow me?

Will we ever know,

The questions at night,

             

          

                - That haunt us the most?

Author's Note

I kind of write as I go along so this is pretty dragged out.