The Fool

Though it's hopeless,

still, I struggle,

though it's fruitless,

still, I toil,

The people laugh and say

"He keeps trying, though his soul is to pay"

They act as if my heart is made of iron

They act as if my soul is unbreakable as rock

and as if my mind can withstand the talons of pain

They are all wrong,

I may not show it, but,

My heart is made of gold, soft, yet pure,

My soul is like paper, easily crushed, yet feeling,

And my mind cannot withstand the talons, they rip apart my sanity

And show the creature I choose not to be,

and through it all, the same people laugh,

"you don't matter, even she shows,

the fool's the one who covers the blows"

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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