I am alone-circa

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This isn't really poetry, but I couldn't really think of what type of genre this fits into. So whatever.

Submitted: December 16, 2007

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Submitted: December 16, 2007

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I am alone. Nobody is my friend. Nobody likes me. Nobody sees me. Nobody wants me.

I am scared. When the times get hard and the going gets tough, I give up first, think about it later. When a leader is needed, I am not the one to ask. For I am scared. And cowards cannot be trusted.

I am short. I look up at everyone and look down to no one. The feeling of inferiority is as evident as the difference between our heights. The shame burns fiercely for that which I cannot change. A fire that burns so hot that it threatens to consume me with its anger. I am short. And short people cannot be trusted.

I am ugly. Mirrors break when they see my hideous visage. The crowd parts for none want to get too close for fear that they will catch my illness. The day seems darker when I am near. The sun dims. The moon comes. But there are no stars. I am ugly. And ugly people cannot be trusted.

I am close-mouthed. When you ask me how I am feeling I say, “why, I’m doing perfectly fine, how about you”. It matters not if I am happy or sad. That is the response that comes by reflex. If you confront me with the latest gossip I will feign ignorance. For to you my friend, I know nothing, and am the most ignorant person in the world. If you ask me about me feelings I will say, “perhaps some other day”. Today I am feeling off. I am close-mouthed. And close-mouthed people can’t be trusted.

I am sad. Diamonds don’t shine for me. The moon mocks me in my room, but I don’t mock it back. Mocking it takes energy. And I am in a deficit when it comes to that. I am sad. And sad people cannot be trusted.

I am helpless. I am a child, newly born. My tiny arms cannot carry my burden any more than I can face it. Even if they could, I would not know how. For I am helpless. And helpless people cannot be trusted.

I am two-faced. I smile as I divulge your secrets. You better not tell me too much. I will tell you that it’s a secret. But really, it’s already been revealed. Don’t believe what I say. None of it is true. I lie for pleasure, and the look of defeat when someone finds they have been deceived sustains me. No, don’t believe me. I am two-faced, and two faced people can’t be trusted.

I am imperfect. When things can go wrong, they do go wrong. It is not the intent that matters, but the result. And the result is always failure. Don’t place your hope in me. You will only be disappointed. Don’t ask me my opinion. It is always wrong. Don’t ask me anything. I don’t matter. I am imperfect. And imperfect people cannot be trusted.

I am spiteful. If you hurt me beware. I will not forget. My mind is sharp and my feelings cold. My brain is a machine that has no emotions. Just a will to finish old vendettas. I forgive. I always forgive. But I never forget. So watch out. For I am spiteful. And spiteful people can’t be trusted.

I make excuses. In the event of me doing something wrong, I consult my pocketbook. In this pocketbook are the excuses with which I buy my dignity and enslavement. I forgot to do my homework? Why I was ever so tired!! Why didn’t I meet you? Oh my, the traffic was ever so harsh! Why didn’t I dance? Well, you know, just because…I make excuses. And people who make excuses cannot be trusted.

I am alone. Nobody is my friend. At least not really. There are people that smile at me. Laugh with me. Invite me places. But they are not friends. For they are also enemies. And how could someone be your friend if they are also your enemy? No, they are not friends of mine.

I am alone

I am alone

I am alone

And there is nobody to tell me different…


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