Grotesque Soul

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Again, a poem writen about my life, all the name calling and all the hurt... This is one of my many names.

Submitted: January 14, 2007

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Submitted: January 14, 2007

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The one and only soul,
The grotesque one...
Always being hurt,
Sometimes being loved.

Sometimes it is hard to beileve,
That ones soul could be so dark.
But if you take a look at the life of the soul,
You can tell why.

Being beat,
Hurt,
Abused,
Unloved.
It tears apart a soul sooner or later.

This soul that lurks in my being,
It is everything but beautiful.
People call me the "grotesque soul"
I think it is because of my personality,
Maybe the way I dress.

Another click I am put into,
Goths,
Emos...
Why can I not just be myself?

My soul, the grotesque one,
Is always the one getting hurt.
The one always being hunted,
Always being torn apart over and over again.

This poor soul,
So alone,
Desolate.

Sometimes with it could be helped,
Sometimes glad it is alone.
Always wishing not to be torn apart.
My poor grotesque soul...

I wish that I could be accepted,
Not to all but to some.
And not to be called
A grotesque soul.

But things sometimes never change,
I do not know if this will.
But me and my grotesque soul
Will be best friends,
Until the day's end.


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