Why does it feel like I’m all alone?
Like my house isn’t my home,
Like I’m running from the unknown?
Why does it feel like it shouldn’t be this way?
Like my nerves are on display,
Like I’m living as prey?
Why does it feel like my mind’s full of trash?
Like my intentions are ash,
Like I’m hoarding my father’s stash?
Why does it feel like I’m under attack?
Like my actions lack,
Like I’m waiting for a smack?
Why does it feel like it will never end?
Like my words offend,
Like I’m expected to pretend?
Why does it feel like everyone is lying?
Like my dreams are dying,
Like I’m only supported when crying?
Why does it feel like these words aren’t enough?
Like my life isn’t so rough,
Like I’m creating demons from fluff?
Why does it feel like I’m a total fraud?
Like my soul just wants you to applaud,
Like I’m fundamentally flawed?
This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly
