February Rain

Asked to compose a poem that reflected how I personally view my "inner self" in a creative writing course at school, this is the one I ended up keeping after throwing out mountains of papers.

Smile, nod, what they all think are great things

For years, four years... What's happened to me.

I am not asking questions, I don't seek clarity,

My distress is armed inside by some depravity.

"Selfish." I often think. I am better off than some.

Is it so bad to look at what I've become 

And feel dissatisfied? This inner unrest,

It grows in my chest, it utters distress.

I could've been a snail, so easily hidden

Live a life slow and short, free from desire

Under watch always by some giant's eyre. 

But that is not who I see when I glimpse a mirror, 

I revoked my beliefs in something superior 

The matriarchs will look down on me,

They will scowl in disdain. 

I will contently look out a calm window. 

Enter, the February rain. 

Author's Note

This is my first post on a writers forum, I welcome constructive criticism. (But please be polite)