I feel like when I write my words don’t say enough
I’m afraid that if I go too deep my message will be out of touch,
Like, my mask has grown too thick, so much that
I don’t remember what my face looks like anymore.
It’s such that any more of this falsehood poetry
Is going to pull false hoods over me like dark hoodies
Strait jackets that keep the insanity inside but never let it out.
I silence my own self. my cries for help oust my cries for help;
Does that even make sense? I’m smothered incense, incensed
By the sensations of my fingertips behind the pen.
Some call it brilliant; art; beautiful and unique
But the proprieties of my piety to me feel like blasphemy
Because I’m afraid staying true to who I am has left me forgotten.
Why tell my story if no one listens? Or hears, but loses the message that was written?
I bleed lines across the streets for them to sleep in drains and puddles;
I bleed into hearts but my blood is muddled.
Plasma they can’t see on their Plasmas, the doors to their soul shut
To the reality of my life as it separates to blood and water;
Sprinkling on altars as offerings in hope of help in my suffering
But what meets me is congratulations and applause.
No pause to see the reason behind these lines
No concern for the times that produced them.
No cause to reflect or introspect; just a waste.
The strife as I play poltergiest to make these words come to life
Tossing ideas and swinging songs across their minds
It comes to bite me in the behind because all I wanted to say was I’m sorry.
I messed up, and God forgave me; thank God!
I love you but I’m scared to show it.
I miss you but don’t want you to know it; cause I know you’re busy.
You tore my heart out but I’ve learnt to survive.
I need more friends like you. I need friends.
I’ve been having a really difficult time. Please pray for me.
Life is beautiful. Take a moment to enjoy it.
I’m a broken soul behind a fake smile.
I sometimes think nobody really cares.
I actually just want to serve God with my life, and don’t care for material things.
I talk too much.
Maybe if I learnt to shut up and just say how I feel, things would be different.
Maybe if I just trust in Jesus instead of fighting so hard to be perfect, then I’d actually become it.
Maybe if I just said want I wanted to say, you wouldn’t want to listen.

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