Just Like Me. . .

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Don't you want to be just like me?

Submitted: November 03, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 03, 2011




I know exactly who you are. . .

I know exactly how you think,

How you feel,

Why you do the things you do.


You think in sinister ways,

You feel everyone else's pain-

It all just merges with your own.

You want people to understand

What you've gone through,

So you make them understand.

You make them feel your pain, as well.


I was there, in that position,

I was you. . .

In a different form.

You, an "innocent" boy,

And I, of course, a "tender" girl.

That's how they see you, isn't it?


That's what you thrive to understand.


They stare into your eyes,

Expecting to see not anything but the

Kind and placid eye of an infant.


What they see alarms them,

Their eyes must be misleading.

The smoldering hatred of an angst-ridden man,

Eyes that ache to be cured

Of the unpleasant life their host must lead.


I was you, before.

I can make it go away,

I know how to mend it all.


They would mock me,

Show me how awful life really was

For someone like me.

Someone like you. . .


When they looked into my eyes,

They saw the same as they do in yours.

Hatred, anger and undying pain.

Pain tainted with thirst.

A thirst only quenched by the pain

And the suffering of others.


As I look at you now,

I see you cry.

Don't fret, crying will end.

Soon, if you go on the way you have been,

You will run dry of tears.

But no,

The burden of life shall not lighten.

You will still sulk through life,

Just without a way of expressing your pain,

No way to show the world your sorrow.


My eyes ran dry.

Like tying your shoes,

You think crying is something you

Can not forget how to do?


You're wrong,

You're always wrong,

Aren't you?

People laugh at you because of it,

They call you stupid, inexperienced,

Don't they?


They're wrong.

They have no idea what you go through,

You know more and have seen more

Than they ever will.


It frightens you, sometimes,

Feeling everything, knowing everything.

However, you can't make it go away,

I can.


I can teach you how to be like me,



The closest to happy that you'll ever be.


Hey, dry your eyes,

There will be no more of that.

When I speak to you, you must be attentive,

You must watch what I do,

You must know what I say.


Look at me,

Look into me.

Tell me what you see,

Tell me what you feel.




Wouldn't you like to feel nothing?


Stop smiling,

There will be no more of that.

Smiling takes too much effort,

It's too much of a distraction.


Tempting, isn't it,

The idea of never feeling a thing?

You may think that not feeling happiness

Is such a terrible notion,

But there's also no pain.

There is no suffering.


Look at me,

Don't I look content?


Look at my wrists,

No more scars.

No longer damaged and kinked like yours.


Look at my eyes,

No more dark circles from sleepless nights.

No longer bloodshot from tears.


Look at my skin.

No more discoloration.

No longer pale from loss of blood.


Look at my chest.

No more ache.

No longer containing a bruised and damaged

Heart like yours.


Hand me that knife,

I can fix you.

I can make you better.


You can be






Me. . .

© Copyright 2019 Brenna Lynn. All rights reserved.

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