Journal

I started a journal today,

wrote three pages away,

the first fifty pages will be poetry,

a total of one hundred fifty-eight pages of thoughts,

I do not matter to anyone,

not even myself,

It's been so long since I've been touched,
I've forgotten what it feels like,

My skin is cold but my heart is warm,

one can stretch, the other is wrecked and torn,

Nobody understand when I try to speak about it,

when they fail to see it makes me feel weak and self-doubted,

This is why I cannot sleep at night,

it's not the fears from the nightmares,
in the dreamworld,

it's the fears, my peers and tears,

of the real world I can't escape.

Author's Note

rough cut?