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Francine Dunes Poem
So sick of all the lies
All the need
All the hiding
All the hate
The harsh realities
The want
Sick of everything that’s shown
And not
Of all that we could be
And are’t
Sick of nothing that has anything to do with you
And everything to do with me
Sick of the reality
Sick of the hiding from it
And of being in it
So damned sick of all the ways I see the world
When none of them bring me solace
When none of my worlds--
My dreams
My hopes--
Bring me peace
In how I choose to live
How I have structured my life
Makes me sick
How I have chosen to hide
Makes me sick
How I, and everyone around me
Has chosen a mask
And hidden
Behind the way we WANT to be seen
The way we feel we NEED to be seen
Sick of the hunger
The bloodlust
The desire
To kill, or be killed
Sick of the notion
That no matter where we are
It’s dog eat dog
Social Darwinism
Sick of the tension
Between every human
Every man
Every woman
Every child
Every stranger
No one trusting anyone else
Everything and everyone fighting
To be on top
Sick of the mentioning
Of "I’m the best, and you’re just a means to an end"
Or if it isn’t said
It’s implied
Sick of the glares
And the scowls
At anyone who is remotely different
The stares, and the hatred
Toward anyone who conforms to something other than
Society’s "perfect image"
Sick of the cavetching
The whining
That "I’m not good enough"
"No one respects me"
"No one cares"
Sick of the responses
"It’ll all work out"
"Let nature run its course"
"Their is no arguing with the Fates"
Live your own damned life
Don’t listen to the voices
Of hate and despair
Who hate you
For being you
And different
Because I’m
Sick of everyone and everything
That conforms to society
Merely because "there’s no other way"
Stand out
Be bold
Make a scene
Be noticed!
It IS okay to be different
It IS okay to speak out
And act out
And be YOU
God knows, I’m still fighting
To get out of the shell I’ve been encased in
Trying to break free
And be the person I know I can be
Because I’m
Sick of conforming
To other people’s wishes
Copyright © Francine Dunes | Year Posted 2008
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Details |
Francine Dunes Poem
I cry my tears
But they are mistaken
For rain
I write my words
But they are mistaken
For outlets
They may be outlets
But you are mistaken
Here's why:
I do not write
To vent to space
The emptiness of the world
As I hear nothing but air
I cry to be heard
Though no one will listen
I give a shoulder
When someone tells me their story
But no one asks for mine
I am shrugged off after I have listened
But what about you?
When have you listened?
Given me advice I have never gotten before?
When have I received even a hint
Of thanks?
What am I, but the words I type on a keyboard
To be read by the public, but never really understood
Who am I, but a person behind
Yet another username
Am I to be cast out of mind
As easily as a Saturday morning cartoon?
Will no one listen
When I have problems of my own?
I will never tire of helping those I care about
Through their pains, and helping them succeed
But I would also like
To be heard in return
To be helped as I have helped
To be understood as I have understood
To be more than a shoulder to rest on
When my Earthly cares weigh down on me
I want to be more
Than a figure in the crowd
More than a writer
With no one to read my words
I want to be noticed
Heard for what I have to say
Copyright © Francine Dunes | Year Posted 2008
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