Perhaps

Perhaps, if I were stone,

And not made of flesh and bone,

It wouldn’t hurt this much,

To be so lowly.

Perhaps, if I were withered grain,

Without blood flowing through my veins,

It wouldn’t hurt this much,

To feel so lonely.

Scrutiny

As a young boy, I felt a certain sense of nudity,

A sense of self that could be construed, a sort of lunacy.

An expectant state of being judged rather brutally,

A sense of shame that left me void of any dignity.

I felt this way around the people I called my community,

And felt that whenever I appeared, they would leap on the opportunity,

To target my presence and shame my flaws with eager ferocity. 

Now, no longer a boy, I still feel this way with much regularity,

Wondering what could have been, if not for this disparity.

And from this state I desire to wage a zealous mutiny,

Yearning to be free from this state of prolonged captivity.

Will I ever break free from the chains of past hostility?

Will I ever overcome the damage of their spite, their scrutiny?

 

 

 

Bare

I feel so lacking,

Like a guitar without strings.

I feel so defective,

A bird without wings.

What use can I be,

When I’m a bow with no arrow?

What good is there in being me,

When I’ve lost all joy, and gained only sorrow?

Take a holiday

Take a holiday, away from your fears,

And let go of all the unwanted baggage, collected over the years.

Make an effort to avoid the places that you know,

Instead visit new places, if you want to grow.

Turn your back on the thoughts that leave you a mess,

And take the journey on the road, away from distress.

Take a break and seek relief,

And leave behind Worry and Grief.

Make the retreat to a happier place.

Make the move to a happier space.

Feeling wrong

What’s the reason for seeing myself as so bizarre?

Like a monster who treads the earth, wearing some frightful scar.

What prompts me to feel like something so absurd?

Like one so vile, he should not be seen of nor heard.

Could it be the layers of imperfection which cause the shame?

Or are the menacing words of cruel people to blame?

You know that something is wrong, when you don’t feel right.

You know something is wrong, when it’s easier to be out of sight.

I would like to know why it is I feel this weird,

And seemingly struck by misfortune, so poorly engineered.

Am I really as pathetic as the taunter’s words make me feel?

Are any of these feelings even real? 

Fragility

You live, somewhere beyond,

Some place, I can’t get to.

My fortitude, does not correspond,

With the place, in which I’m desperate to find you.

I had convinced myself, rather foolishly,

That we’re both of the same kind.

Hoping that by you, I would be loved exclusively,

But who can love one, with such a delicate mind?

 

 

 

Fortified

There’s a sadness, an emptiness in me,

That I cannot explain.

Perhaps it’s what’s meant by:

“The walls we build around us,

keep out the joy as well as the pain.”

Vanity, Unfair?

Am I to be perceived as vain?

Since I try to avoid more pain,

Caused by your mocking and your stares,

By your giggles and your glares,

Your insults and your sneers,

And your harsh words used over the years.

Does this make me vain?

Hoping to stay clear,

Of the derision and the fear?

Things caused by you,

The same ones who should label me now,

Whose kind words are few,

And whose insults are lowbrow.

Now I perceive you as the harsh judge,

The one who holds an unnecessary grudge,

The critic looking to pounce on every flaw,

The wolf waiting at the door.

Now around you I am shy,

Does this really make me such a vain guy?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why so sad?

We live in a world where many are sad,

Where one man’s misery makes another glad,

Where one man’s triumph makes another mad,

Where we despise those who have what we never had,

Where we look for reasons to label another as bad,

Where strangers offer more comfort than mom or dad,

And where our kin’s discontent is ironclad,

Are those the reasons we are so sad?