heathen

A heathen, a stone, 
A cut that doesn't bleed.
A clown, a shapeshifter
We’re all one of these.

A closet full of masks,
Not sure which to wear
Carrying stones on my back
Not sure to put where.

We all hide stuff, 
Indeed we all lie.
I keep it locked, away
Out of sight yet not out of mind.

When there's an urge, and i slip it out
How simply pathetic, 
In the moment self control doesn't count
So ill hide the rest, laugh out the week
But my mask becoming a sieve,
The weight more than my own
I simply cannot carry it
Hold it alone.

The urge to give out,
Call life at quits. 
But i have no right, i am simply a vessel,
Of my thoughts and shouts, 
Laughs and pains, 
Loses and gains.

So i let some out, feeling bad after
Keep some in, staining my laughter

-mika
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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