Messages of the Marooned II

On a chilly, winter evening,

I kindled a fired to keep me warm,

And as I gazed upon the horizon,

I noticed the approach of yet another storm.

Then, it finally dawned on me, like it should have long before,

That the chance of being found on this island is never more.

Thus I extracted from my breast pocket her picture once more,

Realizing that I can no longer keep ajar Hope’s door.

I stared at her face longingly, knowing it would be the final time,

And I finally tossed her image into the smouldering fire,

Burning with it her memory and my Freedom’s desire.

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There’s something I want to confess,

Something I need to get off of my chest,

It’s, that all I ever wanted was to feel as good as the rest,

Not to feel greater, or worthier or even the best,

But just to feel on par with them, would make me feel blessed.

And to feel this way seems like it’s become my life’s quest,

To the point that I may well have become obsessed,

In trying to feel like I’m on par with the rest.

This seems to have unwittingly made life a contest,

And since it’s a competition I won’t win, I’ve become depressed,

But I’m bound by the fear of rejection to always invest,

In the pursuit of proving that I’m equal, and not less.

In this regard I’ve sacrificed much, but to no success.

In this pursuit I’ve pushed myself much, but made little progress.

Odd fellow

As I rested my head on my pillow,

My head was filled with hopes of a better tomorrow,

But as I woke, I only felt a recurring sorrow,

A lurking gloom, leaving me feeling hollow.

A lasting regret, a bitter pill to swallow,

To know that I can be described as yellow,

A fretful being, never known to be mellow,

And to live with the stigma of being an odd fellow.

 

Apart

I guess there’s no way of knowing,

The way you feel about me,

And whether or not I made,

The right impression on your heart.

Perhaps I should just accept,

That all we’re meant to be – is apart.

Smitten

Yes, I’ll admit I was smitten,

And that by the love bug I was bitten,

But tales of romance are never written,

For us ugly ogres – who don’t fit in.

I’m Tired

I’m sick and tired,

Of feeling sick and tired.

Is all this merely a result of how my brain is wired?

Or is this malaise somehow acquired,

Or perhaps a result of some plot, conspired?

I yearn for relief from this state, undesired.

For how much longer must I feel like an entity, expired?

Dreams

At night my mind replays to me,

My need for love and affection,

Such that I dreamt of a situation,

Whereby, I had come to others’ attention.

They seemed to respond well to my presence,

And to their ranks I was invited,

But my cowardice showed,

So I ran away, and left them unrequited.

Why would I run away?

I felt too embarrassing, too unworthy to stay.

They offered me what I was looking for,

 – A sense of belonging.

But when I got what I wanted, I realised,

I’m not ready for the prize,

But only for its longing.