My Mind.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is the very first thing I wrote. I was in the 7th grade and my english teacher loved it. I, myself, do not. Though, as most people say, I am my own worst critic.

Submitted: December 07, 2011

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Submitted: December 07, 2011

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How do I escape the world that is not real?

I cant wake up because I am not asleep.

I’m not dead, yet I cannon die.

I am alone, but feel like I am being watched.

It is always watching but is never there.

 

I do not find myself in my room, for I don’t not have one.

The room I find myself in is dark, always dark.

I know he is not there watching for there is no door.

I cannot escape.

 

There is no sound outside because there is no outside.

No one else.

Just me in my dark room with no door, and the person watching.

Watching, always watching.

 

I’m never hungry, for if I was there is no food.

No water to drink.

I do not feel any pain for there is no such thing.

No pain in me at all.

 

I see things on the walls every no and again.

They seem to be my memories.

Coming back to tell me something.

Why they are on the walls I do not know.

 

Sometimes I ask myself if I should try to talk to the man that is always watching.

Yes, watching.

To ask him why there is no door.

Why he is there watching.

Why these memories come on the walls.

Home come I can’t get out.

 

Do I know him or not, I do not know.

There is no end to the questions I have.

And there is no one here to ask.

 

I have no face for there is no need.

If I do I cannot recall what I look like.

For all the memories on the walls come from my eyes.

Not a single glimpse of myself, nor for as long as I can remember.

I do not believe there is a sun for there is no light.

None. Except the glow from the memories on the wall every now and again.

 

I am not me in this room.

I am a well-respected person.

Not just one of a thousand.

But one in one.

 

I now find myself looking at the sun.

There is no black room.

No feeling of being watched by someone.

But there is - Laughter.

 

Kids all around me.

Swinging on swings, sliding down slides, and hanging from monkey bars.

I find myself on top of the climbing castle hanging upside down.

 

“where was I just a few seconds ago?” I ask.

“It was so quiet, so nice, I was somebody.”

“Why did I leave?”

“How did I leave?”

“Why can’t I go back?”

“I liked it there.”
I Was somebody!”

 

Not a nobody,

One that got pushed around for someone else’s pleasure!


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