What is it to be part of the crowd, yet not be part of it?
What is it to see smiling faces, yet have your own remain impassive?
What is it to see what others mightn't?
What is it to hear laughter, wonder what the source of amusement was?
What is it to be independent but have to rely on another?
What is it to think what others mightn't?
What is it to be the odd one out?
What is it to shed tears for a gift that is not a gift?
What is it to feel what others mightn't?
What is it to be alone yet not be alone?
What is it to ask, but be told what was said wasn't relevant?
What is it to write like this?
... ...You tell me... ...
- 2002
1 comment:
Genius! And you were only like, 18 when you wrote this? I can certainly relate to this one. You may think it strange but it makes sense to me. These are very RELEVANT questions to anyone who is alive.
I like the last part about being alone yet not being alone. I feel that way when the reality of me being blessed, simple slips away from me.
I am not sure if that is what you meant but I think poetry has as many aspects as it does readers.
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