As intriguing as my life may seem, I write poems for fun.
The emotions and thoughts that I dare not speak of
are conveyed through my creative outlet.
Barely anyone ever reads them,
so I print them all
and slash them away
like a pirate's buried treasure.
Afraid of what others might think,
I stay true to myself and walk away from the world.
I know all the soft and warm felt words that are supposed to be comforting
but I have built such a strong fortress inside
that it guards my frosty heart from everyone.
The world is a cold, frozen wasteland
where people are judge based on expectations and appearances.
It disgusts me to put it nicely.
All I need is a hug,
just one chance to let eighteen years of silence
of unrest
of hurt
pour out as waterfalls
of tears and cries.
I'm still looking for a small piece of belonging that has been taken from me.
I want a safe haven to go running to,
a safe haven to protect
and love.
That's the purpose I serve.
So even if it means I must live with my darkness for an eternity,
I will still stay true to my long and lonely path
to the ends of world.
I just have to keep the hood of my sweater up
and hands immersed in the only warm pockets I have.