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Entry tags:
Poetry | Who Is Me.(?)
Written at 12.11 am.
The sum of a life; so far.
I wonder sometimes, where I’m going
and if I’m on the right path for my life.
I wander because I can’t do anything else
but sometimes,
sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t settle down;
are roots better than a gypsy’s soul?
I don’t think I’ll ever know
one way, or another.
I just go,
and occasionally I’ll stop for a while
to rest, and see the sights,
but I always move on again.
I don’t know how to stay in one place; forever.
People always ask me,
“why do you always go?”
And,
“life isn’t just about leaving.”
To which I reply:
“Maybe I’m not leaving all the time. Maybe,”
and here I pause, and look them in the eye.
“Maybe I’m just trying to find whatever home is for me.”
People never really know what to do with me
but that’s okay, because I don’t know what to do
with them, either.
Sometimes, I think I want someone to break me
just to see if I’ll bleed,
or maybe so they can put me back together again
and patch up all the broken spaces,
and make them whole again.
Everyone’s always too gentle, though,
and the cracks remain, gaping, and
all that I am oozes through them
to leave nothing but myself; remaining.
I am alone with my scars;
the products of all that I’ve done, and lived, and been.
I wander because I don’t know what else to do
or be,
except myself, who is me.(?)
The sum of a life; so far.
I wonder sometimes, where I’m going
and if I’m on the right path for my life.
I wander because I can’t do anything else
but sometimes,
sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t settle down;
are roots better than a gypsy’s soul?
I don’t think I’ll ever know
one way, or another.
I just go,
and occasionally I’ll stop for a while
to rest, and see the sights,
but I always move on again.
I don’t know how to stay in one place; forever.
People always ask me,
“why do you always go?”
And,
“life isn’t just about leaving.”
To which I reply:
“Maybe I’m not leaving all the time. Maybe,”
and here I pause, and look them in the eye.
“Maybe I’m just trying to find whatever home is for me.”
People never really know what to do with me
but that’s okay, because I don’t know what to do
with them, either.
Sometimes, I think I want someone to break me
just to see if I’ll bleed,
or maybe so they can put me back together again
and patch up all the broken spaces,
and make them whole again.
Everyone’s always too gentle, though,
and the cracks remain, gaping, and
all that I am oozes through them
to leave nothing but myself; remaining.
I am alone with my scars;
the products of all that I’ve done, and lived, and been.
I wander because I don’t know what else to do
or be,
except myself, who is me.(?)
no subject
Just beautiful!
And I love the style.
Sometimes, I think I want someone to break me
just to see if I’ll bleed,
or maybe so they can put me back together again
and patch up all the broken spaces,
and make them whole again.
This are the lines that struck home for me...
no subject
Thanks, Yo.
It just kind of came to me while I was flipping between working on a fic, and looking at a piece of art I did, and I just had to write it, y'know?
And yeah, those are the lines that made the whole piece, really. I got them first, and the rest kind of followed.