Who I Am

 The morning comes, unwelcome to me

The mirror distorts the vision I see

The world drags along, speeding away

As the sky flutters by on the wings of yesterday

The voices of loved ones distant and mute

I just can’t stand it when they say that I’m ‘cute’

The bed I get out of is stained with emotion

The wounds of my pride are in need of some lotion

My room is filled with the fruits of my boredom

The nails in the wall are an odd little totem

The sun through my window is caught in the blind

The one thing to please me is the lack of sunshine

Here in my room, I retreat to the arts

The paint and the pen, two pieces to start

Two pieces of the puzzle, to figure me out

Who I am, I am without a doubt