Picking up the Pieces

Sometimes, when your life isn't great, it's hard to pick up the pieces...

My life, so far,

isn't all that great.

People are dying all around me.

Everywhere I turn and look

there, floating in the misty air,

is another cruel and sad face

blaming me for

something else.

Many of my fears,

crawling from the deep abyss

to find and haunt me.

Memories, digging themselves out of

the fililg cabinets in the back

of my mind only to find

me and yell and scream at me

for all of the things that

I did wrong.

I beg and beg,

that I may do more

than I already have.

That I may help and change

not only their lives,

but mine too.

 I want to say, that I

have the worst life ever,

but I know that that will never

be true.

Everyone keeps telling me,

that I should live my life

with as much happiness and joy

as possible.

They keep telling me to

forget all of the bad things that have

happened in my past

and all of the wrong

choises,

and to just move on.

Ever since then,

I have been trying to follow their

advise,

and doing, what they call,

picking up the pieces

of my puzzled and broken life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

I don't know where the idea came from to write this poem, because my life has been great so far, so just read it and tell me what you think about it. :D

Reviews

[Steffi]

"floating in the misty air,
is another cruel and sad face
blaming me for
something else."

[Wandering Bard]

Very great idea and title, Poetry. Once again, just a little bit of a grammar clean-up, but I esp. loved this last stanza/bit: "I have been trying to follow their advise, and doing, what they call, picking up the pieces of my puzzled and broken life." Great poem. :)