People always ask me if I'm losing my mind
Is the answer really that hard to find?
Look at me:
I'm a mess.
I've dirt in my hair,
And tears in my dress.
The cheery young girl that once was here,
Now drowning in the lake of adulthood.
But coming of age is nothing new, no,
Countless have stood, where I stood.
The things I've seen, the things I've done-
Some of it was really fun.
The things I've witnessed- the reasons I run:
They'd make you want to swallow a gun.
So, my mind's gone, you say?
I remember when I first lost it, the very day:
The pain was great; I was left with hate-
When they stripped me of my happiness,
And buried my mate
Fast forward to today-
Wow.. It's almost my birthday..
A victim of circumstance, I am:
I won't even get a card, damn..
But I digress-
Back to the dirt in my hair,
And the tears in my dress---
But are they tears, or are they tears?
And was she my mate, or was she my mate?
The double meanings of words are what terrify me the most,
I hope you get at least that, from this simple post.
But the tears are truly tears,
And they did bury my mate-
Neither of which, make me feel great..
Where was I, again?
Am I losing my thoughts, losing my mind?
Ask me again, when I'm off the grind.
There are finals to take,
And stories to make-
Or is it all fake?
That's all I am asked,
Every single day.
Why should I explain myself?
I mean- I look OK.
Don't I?
This mask of a bitch-face can only do so much,
Think of it, as a crutch.
A crutch I use to hide the pain-
It seems to work-
No one questions the cane..
This poem's going nowhere, that should be plain to see..
Oh well, I didn't know what I wanted it to be..
At least writing distracts me, sometimes,
And keeps me from losing my mind..
___________
This thingy I wrote goes nowhere and everywhere. I think that was the point, even though it doesn't have a point. Thoughts?