Scribbled Thoughts

Hidden

instead of

believed in,

disguise yourself

and fear with me

rather than

being encouraged

to dream of fantasy

becoming real

and stepping out

into the sun.

Sleep through pain

but wake to agony.

Is it the only proof

you are alive?

Or will enduring it

one day show

an existence

of hope and change.

Calculate a lie

and hope

it becomes real

so peace remains balanced

and your day

isn’t disrupted

with emotions.

The ideal me

is still the same

but more resilient.

Not taller or smarter,

because who would that be?

A fantasy so built up

the original is gone.

I will not change myself,

and you shouldn’t

wish me to.

A village

of the lingering,

settling on the living

like a heavy cloak

on small shoulders.

They’re too scared

to let go,

and you’re too scared

to leave.

Your worse fear

is to become a monster,

to the point

you’ll rip out your beating heart

and crush it

until your lifeless body

is you again,

your ideals trapped

until you reach

a world

beyond a broken heart.

The two halves

that made you

do not own you.

They can try to shape you

but in the end

you are your own fate.

Change the world

and never give up

on your beliefs.

Missing a presence

that never got to grow,

a future planned

that no one else dreamed of.

Take my hurt

with no context

and think me crazy,

not understanding the grief

of a parent

who never got

to be one.

A weathered corpse

of my good intentions

rest behind,

exposing sins

too cold to whisper

while my burning throat

pours out lies

you lap with eager tongues,

and still I wonder

who the world

will pity more

in the end.

Our last words

were formal and cruel

but no less true.

A chance meeting

to rescind those sentiments

has a back turned,

standing tall

but shaking

at the thought

of what could have been.