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I was so happy,
What happened?
Why must I be tested like this?
Is there a reason.
There is no destiny,
No tests,
Only what you make of your situation,
That is what counts.
I want to have a steady home,
I want to have work,
I want to have a purpose.
Right now my will to live
Is only that,
To live.
I have no ambition but consistency,
No joy but in the long term.
My wishes are for the future,
No plan to change the present.
I will myself to know who I am,
Yet have failed at many a turn.

I wonder if all people feel as I do,
If they all hurt like this.
Are they hiding it like I am?
How can I tell.
Who are they,
I would like to know.
I want deep conversation,
Yet I want less some times.
Some times I want more.
Tell me what it is that I want,
I will tell see to it that you find your wants as well.
I want to be happy,
But I want them all to smile too.
These things can't happen at once.
What is it that I feel?
I can not tell,
And I am scared.
There are lights behind my eyes,
Because I try not to cry.
My chest hurts,
Why do I write these things down?
No one will know.
No one will see inside of me as the other me does.
She has not spoken in a long time.
Not to me at least,
I miss her.
How long will any of this last,
How long can I stand to suffer.
Will I give in?
Will I ignore it,
Will I become what they think of me,
What they see?
How can I tell now.
How does anyone know how to feel,
If anyone even does.
I want answers,
So why can I not voice my questions.
Am I afraid?
Am I alone?
Why is it not the same for them?
I though we were all made from the same matter,
The same base, fiber, structure.
I feel like all of my beings are the same.
But we are so different.
Why don't they speak.
Too long.
My thoughts have ceased to be poetic,
My dreams to bring me joy.
Jumbled and confused,
Just like my writings.
But putting it down clears my mind.
Of what I do not yet know.
I'm so scared.
I'm in the hall again,
Too much red.
The basement,
Too much purple for too much light.
White and black make things,
but I don't know how.
How can they hold such effectiveness,
For betraying feelings,
For telling lies.
It is different now,
But it's all the same.
I can not cry.
I may have run out.
I can't do shit.
People don't notice when I cry.
If I cry.
I do not know.
Why can I not even explain these things to myself?
Maybe I can and I just don't want to.
That may make sense to some.
Maybe not to me.
I don't know.
I answer that in many different ways.
All the same.
Always the same.
Always changing.
I do not know why.
Maybe I should.
I will try to find out.
A poem I wrote when I was attempting to write a happy story as a Christmas present for my Mother, it seems I was not in the mood to do so and this was born instead.
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Submitted on
January 15, 2011
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