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As I face the oncoming mess,
I realize I have very few belongings,
all that I have is what is in my heart, waiting to be thrown away.
Someone must have thought,
what you do have matters not,
yet I stand here empty and ashamed.
Many don't understand,
they listened to my thoughts,
thinking how that was so, so long ago.
I would not be a human,
without the weights I carry,
though I've gathered many up along the way.
Those weights do mend and break me,
they dissolve me and shape me,
and all the others came and watched it all.
I don't feel normal anymore,
I feel like someone who went to sleep and died,
this is surely not the path of life and death.
I was reminded every day,
how I'd grow to be a soul worth saving,
I still believeth not a word they say.
Maybe I had a greater purpose,
for doesn't an animal have a dream,
as it attempts to make its path more clear?
Always worried about whats next,
and yet all of this just never matters,
when I am dying,
my dreams won't matter.
THE END...
- Title: Strength in Belongings
- Artist: Ravencon
- Description: I wanted to describe myself by describing my belongings. This is my first poem I've written in years, so expect it to be a little rusty.
- Date: 07/18/2011
- Tags: poetry
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