Slurred Emotions

Hermitose

11-19-07

I live of myself,
for myself
and to myself.
My needs
were seldom satisfied
by anyone
and I was taught
to put others first,
even if it came
at the sacrifice of self.
I asked how this was fair.

I am not
an individual of mainstream.
I do not fall in line.
Stress does not paint me easily
or healthily.
Conformity breaks me
down
harder than status quo
come easier
to "them"
(the real world).

I lock myself up
often
with shades drawn and
doors closed
and
a pageant over my head.
If I can't figure myself out,
who the hell can?
I know the answers
but I can't cure the issues.
When I stop making problems,
even more arise.
When I come up with solutions,
more doors open
and I'm back where I started.

Read me like the book I seem
but am not.
I prefer to stay inside,
quiet, sheepishly
amid my aura of self.
As easy as it is,
I don't ask to be figured out.
I'd rather grow as old as I can
for as long as I can
before you try to make a name of me.
This book is unreleased
and less than
slightly unheard of,
but it's mine
so let's keep it that way.

Nobody cares
or wants to see your scars,
so why drudge up mine?
I'm happy in my hole.
Isn't that all we want...
happiness?
It's hard to come by,
sure,
but I've found it.
Maybe it's fleeting
but it'll take me through
another day
alone
without having to put up with
sanctioning bodies
of filth
trying to figure out
where my head's at.
If they only knew...
I'd be dead already,
or heavily
institutionalized.
It's not fair.

I live of myself,
for myself
and everyone that does
come my way;
so much to a fault.
When it crosses me
I trap myself inside.
I don't want to know
what I already know,
and I lock up my heart and mind
in refusal of giving in.
It's not me,
but it's me.
In my wanting of living,
I can't be what I want to be.
I'm not dying
but I am.

I realistically seldom let people in.
I live in my own world,
corrupted only by myself
and not by humanity.
I listen to opinions
but most don't fit mine.
The world does injustice
daily
to the free-thinkers.
I cannot be a party to that.

So it is and I am.
Here sits a lonely man,
alone,
but not so,
akin to his thoughts-
my thoughts.
I'm alive in every mind
but mine.
I can revel or prevail;
fail or conquer the next context.
I choose to live in what's left
while the wayside opts for
what's left.