Even the middle of a mob can be a lonely place
To a self proclaimed misunderstood soul
Do I not know what to say?
My words seem to reach their ears
But all meaning simply echoes away.
Do they live a life so different from mine?
We all feel, bleed and heal
But somehow I feel less important pain.
It’s funny how,
When you’re dealt a bad hand,
And you’re looking for someone to blame,
The first victim is always on the other side of a mirror.
Its tragic how,
You give your all to someone,
And receive nothing in return but shame,
The expectant fate of an obedient giver.
In this particular lonely corner of a crowded room,
I ask myself,
Can a soul be so misunderstood it doesn’t understand itself?
Afraid to love;
It is a tremendous burden to bear,
To have somebody.
Afraid to lose,
It is a pain unlike any other,
The soul’s malady.
Happiness is a precarious possession,
To a heart soon to be destitute of love.
For there is a fate worse than death
To live, but never whole again for another breath.
Every morning like clock work
With the rise of dawn
Arises my need,
The need to cover up.
A few strokes of brushes,
A few dabs of paints,
When I’m done and look in the mirror,
What did I spend all this time covering up?
Imperfections or my identity?
Too bad they don’t make concealer for your personality.
This is my first attempt at digital art. Please let me know what you think! 😀 I couldn’t find a mouse so I had to make do with the touch pad of my laptop which is why the drawing is a bit trash.
Your feedback is much appreciated! Thank you 🙂
– The Obsessive Writer
Told me I needed no knight in shining armour,
Told me I wasn’t a damsel in distress.
Every day I’ll work on making your dreams come true,
And every night I’ll rule them.
What he didn’t have to say,
And I already knew,
Is that he is mine and I am his.
For better or for worse,
We will always be ours.
All it takes is a feeling. A kiss that sends you reeling. The smell of the rain or the music that momentarily takes away your pain. Every where you look there lies an untold story. So, keep an eye out for the poetry. It’s not always pretty. Not if you want reality. The truth doesn’t have to rhyme. What has to be said, needs to be said when it’s time. Those demons on your shoulder, they will tell you,
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Flick them off and keep writing anyway.
Some people can captivate you with words,
Like the sound of their voice simply resonates with your soul.
Like every thought they utter has crossed your mind.
Like they have discovered in you, things no one else could ever find.
I do not aspire to change the world,
Nor do I wish to touch every heart.
I could never be that bold.
My wings could never soar that far.
My dreams are made of simpler things.
In a lifetime of writing,
If I could touch a single life, make a difference to one person,
That is all I dream of; that would be enough.