Weak Poetry pt. 4

Writing

There are different sides to each man and woman. I’ve yet to discover the other people I am able to become; I’ve grown too accustomed to the facades and charades I’ve been playing.

I’ve fallen so deep

I’m frightened that I may not recognize myself.

The moment I get alone with all my thoughts will I recognize them?

I’ve been so secluded in this game of appearances I’ve lost sight of certain things.

The reality of my shameful game: is that I’ve created it and I don’t know how to even win or admit defeat.

A game I created out of my perceptions of who I want to be and who everyone is expecting me to become.

I’ve decided to toss the game up in the air and live life off the beaten path and pursue unorthodox dreams.

I’m entranced by the sound of dancing neurons. Electric pulsations rush across me.

I’m not sure to make of the sensation I feel.

It will all hurt, but the experience will last and be worth something that is far more needed than anything.

My dilemma now is, will anyone recognize me when I finally give up on this game, or throughout this entire catastrophe they saw through my guise.

 

 

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