Yearning

I’m in need,

Of a little love,

A little attention.

I could really use,

Some comfort,

Some affection.

But I understand,

That few are attracted,

To those,

With many limitations.

When it comes to love,

The destitute rarely receive,

Any satisfaction.

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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.

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?