What Would I Be?

ots

The scars that bruise my being are the same ones I surround myself with,

It doesn’t make any sense why I should keep on doing what I do,

The thing that which it is forbidden of me by my own self to,

I don’t understand yet,

Why I should act the way everyone says I should,

What should I do otherwise?

Should I run to my tree of living?

Touch its bark and close my eyes; waiting for a vision or some kind of notion that tells me what I should be doing instead?

Should I just let them tell me things that which I don’t want to be in distance of hearing?

Should I let them assume things they weren’t fit to assume in the first place?

Every time I talk; no one listens,

And even if they did, I would never be able to find the right words to describe my every whim,

The words I couldn’t find; where are they?

Why have they hidden themselves from me?

Why do they do this every time?

Don’t they know every time they do this, that which they do, I end up looking the savage; the peasant; the girl that no one knows; that girl that always speaks in lies,

If I told them my every intention; my every whim; my reason of willingness and verity,

What would I be?

 

Reviews

[Emily]

Very nice poem!
Well done!!