Because underneath the facade,
And in that deathly pause,
That allows me to slip and begin to lose my grip,
I struggle to avoid an image that is devoid,
Of strength and wisdom,
And beauty and inquivitism.
All that is left and all that I hold against my chest,
Is the image of girl —
One who is weak and one who has a bleak,
Outlook on life and is best friends with strife.
I see a girl who’s dissatisfies and one who waits until the night to cry,
And admit that she is weak and that it is a struggle to keep,
The smile on her face and her feet in a place,
That feels like her own,
A place that she knows to be home.
Because home cannot be found when I am so far removed from the ground,
So removed from the the grind and the pound,
That makes life a puzzle with value to be found.
If I were to be true,
And if I were to be true with you,
I would admit that this is not a haunting of the past,
And nothing that will pass.
And if I were you,
I would run,
because it is not your issue.
But I don’t.
And I won’t,
I am only human.