Me

04.02.98

Cry not, now child
the sea's soothing sussurrations
will soon send you to sleep
and you shall wake to a bright morn.


This fairytale I whisper
do you hear
the strains of tortured memories 
that wave you on?
Encase the heart in plastic
saran-wrap this bleeding soul
that cares too much for pictures
created in the heart
that refute the reality of your life.
Stifled hope turns bitter scorn
and once naivete ripens into lackluster despair
so that the being must be hidden
from the light to spare others the pain
of its knowledge and its self.
I am that creature
hidden from light
frightened of letting them see
me
for that malformed psyche
is always rejected for the ones
that sugar-coat the truth
and speak lies with honey'd tongues.