deepundergroundpoetry.com
Me
I vacillate between the whimsical and disruptive
Scolding myself for not being me
Hating myself for being me
Wondering who I am.
I soar in a world unknown to my eyes
feel its breeze on my skin and swear I have never known it.
The pity of conscience combats the empathy of emptiness I feel.
I transform into verses,
colour a page in confusion;
oh bright hues it burns!
And some people call it art.
Others call me the artist, yet it is I on the page.
Who or what am I?
Scolding myself for not being me
Hating myself for being me
Wondering who I am.
I soar in a world unknown to my eyes
feel its breeze on my skin and swear I have never known it.
The pity of conscience combats the empathy of emptiness I feel.
I transform into verses,
colour a page in confusion;
oh bright hues it burns!
And some people call it art.
Others call me the artist, yet it is I on the page.
Who or what am I?
Published 14th Oct 2013
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The author encourages honest critique.
14th Oct 2013 9:34pm
14th Oct 2013 9:41pm
17th Oct 2013 5:10am
Damn very deep. It really defines what goes beyond the mind of a writer. It's more than just words we lay down on a page, It's a single moment in which we lay our emotion and story down permanently in ink. Very well written.
18th Oct 2013 00:47am