He Calls Me an "Old Soul"

He calls me an "old soul" 

and what about that soul isn't worthy of 

innocence. 

When the words fell  

from his steel cold lips to the rock hard ground 

I knew what innocence, could have been,  

was hollowed 

out, 

scraped clean 

by hands 

that were supposed to 

love. 

Innocence then replaced by  

ignorance. 

What "old soul" is so... 

Naive; 

enough to be comforted by ominous eyes and cigarette breath. 

Enough to say "I love you Daddy," 

every night. 

The I love you's became 

habit. 

He says "bad habits die hard" 

I don't bother 

correcting, 

neither the phrase nor the 

cycle. 

My eyes  

open. 

There I lay, covered, 

unsatisfied. 

In a blanket made of self-loathe, 

I'd rather it be made of steel wool. 

I could scratch 

away 

the friendship between substance and  

loneliness, 

that stains  

my skin. 

Where am I? 

I have made my mind an enclosed dark room. 

Cloaked in  

resentment, 

trapped 

within the four walls  

that have my ugly thoughts 

scribbled across their ugly 

surface. 

The doors 

I had created, 

only lead to  

emptiness. 

A kind of emptiness 

that made your tears dry up 

before they fall. 

I'd rather drink 

the salt from my eyes, 

but he laughs, 

"don’t hold the liquor." 

 

 

 

I let my 

self-worth 

be crushed by an inebriated fist.  

Haunted 

by thoughts of what  

integrity  

could feel like. 

These feelings consumed  

me; 

He said "the glass is half empty." 

I stood, 

I said "the glass is half full." 

That was 

then; 

the words "old soul" felt like 

daggers. 

What is empty 

can be 

filled. 

My shell was re-inhabited with 

life.  

I omit the self-loathe, 

my final answer to it all was 

self-love.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

MINNICKB

Wow, this is incredible. Fantastic job.

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