I feel, I get cut, I bleed but not of blood,
I am but a soul, but a soul who is lost, a soul who feels emotions; emotions none shall ever know. Friends are few and family is far, yet in still my true relationships fall in God and my comfort from God himself and my talents of art and writing.
My words are lost and seem futile and tart, but if I don’t share I’ll stay in despair.
I choose to be me though others even the woman whom I owe my physical existence to fail to understand. I walk, I run; I am silent and gentle, meek and confused.
My attractions are not to the rarer sex as they should be but to no one instead.
I need someone, but I stay in a bind, I hide my feelings and cast my thoughts aside.
But they give me worry and insomnia, worse than Eris and her folly. Jolly never touches me and again,
I weep. I cry, I sigh; I look up to the sky,
I look back down only to wonder why.
I feel alone, I am not, but the thought will never flee.
Perhaps my solitude is why no one gets me.
However yet and still I write, perhaps with this puzzle piece of master piece the reader will know what I dealt with.
Too bad and too good for this too shall pass but by the time help if offered to me, I’ll have no turmoil and be set free indeed.
-2012 before my conversion to Wicca