I am who I am not
I am tired.
Tired of holding my tongue
at the thoughts
my mind shouts.
What do I want to do?
Who do I want to be?
How will I make money?
I do not know.
And I am tired.
Two phrases that have
shredded my
happiness
into
mangled
pieces
of
stripped
leather.
Dry,
wrinkled,
cracked
and at a point
that is beyond
stretching.
I am sad because
I have let people down.
I have let people rule my actions.
My fear of making
the wrong choice
has lead me
to not only
block out
the light
but
hide
in shadows of
yesterday.
I do not know.
I have not since..
I cannot remember,
perhaps
when
I thought
life
was
real
and
dreams
were
not.
It makes no sense,
or at least to my
gaurded mind.
The strive for money and
material
things.
Yet I do it.
I play a stupid game
I follow a certain crowd
and I speak a certain
way.
I am what I am not,
for the world is shady
and everything has a shadow.
I am not tired of the sun
that guides my day
nor the moon that
dances by night.
I do know the feel of cold
slapping at my neck
and of the heat
that betrays
my sweat.
I am not tired
of the books that are
written
or the flowers growing
tall.
I do know the loveliness of music
that lulls in the summer air,
as well as the
sweetness of a
mountain spring.
All of these things
I am, I know,
but I don't
and they keep
far away
from me.
In dreams I do not sleep
because
my body escapes me.
She glides
through time
like a slippery snake
on an unwinding road.
She is never eager to
return to an ignorant era.
Where bones and paint
are what everyone
wears.
But she does
and when I awake,
I am tired,
and I do not know.
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cheyanimal14
From Wyoming living in Washington. Just graduated High School and now attending University. I grew up on a ranch and in a dinner theatre, I write, read, act, play, sing, and basically anything I'm willing to try.
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