I twist this world,
swirl it round me.
It's deformed and torn,
and the shadows greet me
in the corners of my mind each morning.
They're pleading me to leave.
They know me.
I am past the hoping stage,
desperately surfing a lovers wake.
I am lost when I am alone.
Self pride was reconstructed.
I am frail in my yearning,
I want my bones back,
torn from my skeletal grasp,
before I'd fully malformed to perfection.
I've ripped me up,
written myself out
with the gentle silver pen.
Who I am is written in my skin,
I will never be able to erase who I am.
Author notes
I'm trying to fully comprehend myself still, this is self exploration as such.
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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I can relate to this a lot at this precise moment. Not gonna say much else since I'm so tired, but I'll return to express my love for your work some other time
Enjoy the applause so long!
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Hmm.
That was a great read. Your poem is very...detailed and I like the title so much. Although we cannot erase, we can make changes. But it depends on how hard we try and strive for the change.
One again...great job. -
good! this is so good! i can't explain!
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thank you so very much.
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Well expressed, but painful
(Who I am is written in my skin,
I will never be able to erase who I am. )
Truth is, the writing on the skin is a denial of the wonderful, precious person the writer is. -
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I've never felt beautiful. That's how I can continue to mutilate myself trying to find happiness. I guess that's quite illogical really.
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