Creativity641

If we’re not here, where

would we be? Who would I be

if I wasn’t me?

I’m tired.

Tired of being another number on an attendance sheet.

I’m tired of waking early to work all day

I’m tired of a system made for the privileged 

My existence is not for others

it does not heal the wounded 

my words are costume, foam steel at most.

I exist to live a life that continues the cycle

I'm a mirror of society that has painted

Who are you, you ask? Why, that's an incredibly good question. I don't know. I ask myself that every day, and I still don't know who I am. I don't know who I want to be, or what I want to do when I grow up.

In my room, laying in bed, staring at the ceiling late at night, and curled up like a fetus

Been listening to music for a few while now, thinking about things I shouldn’t

i don't know who i am

nor do i think i ever will

but

i want to be so much.

i want to be a poet,

carefully nurturing

then raising and sharing,

the sustenance of the soul.