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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Dark · #1844795
“The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Mark Twain
I fooled them.  I fooled them all.
What they mistook for loneliness
was…”love of solitude."
And when they believed me sad,
and my space filled with misery,
I…”rejoiced in my grief”.

I tricked them.  I tricked them all.
When they saw that I frowned,
that I knitted my brow,
I stood tall;
my experiments to…“bring my eyebrows”
together were a success.

I deceived them.  I deceived them all.
When they saw my tears
and thought I cried
I told them
the stains of those tears
were…in celebration of “a life well-lived”.

And when they saw my soul turned dark,
my spirit bleak,
when they thought me disappearing
into myself,
I waved them away.  I bid them leave me be.
It was a trick of lights, a shift of shadows,
and their perception was all wrong.

I misled them.  I misled them all.
When I laid down, when I gave up,
When I was defeated,
They thought it was despair,
But it was…only “rest” I was seeking.
Surely of this I would not jest.

But as my skin turned cold,
and my heartbeat stilled,
as I struggled for breath—
they remembered my “love” of solitude
my “joy” of grief
my “celebration” of mediocrity
my want of “rest”--
and they turned their backs on me.
© Copyright 2012 elizjohn (elizjohn2000 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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