Me
What am I doing?,
the strength of a real poet is to speak truth through words but most words I cannot pronounce,
I struggle to recite my poems out loud,
i realise i have misspelt as I proceed to read so i stop to correct my writings but by then my words have already lost its magic,
I do not know whether to end with a full stop or comma so i keep writing placing punctuations as I please, one blunder after the other,
who cares anyways, they will all go to waste.
I haven't picked up phone to write in days,
I blame it on a hopeless presence but those are all excuses,
it isn't writers block because the ideas don't cease to come,
I'm afraid all my plans are just mere micro naps,
i say i am wide awake and focused but as for my future i fear i hallucinate.
i tell myself i will not live like this forever, they will all see me, notice me,
i saw a friend today and it reminded me how much my life is a waste and i might do the world a favour and leave in a haste,
and of death I am not scared, I am more frightened that I shall be a living dead,
my heart beating in a way it does not deserve to,
walking amongst the living like one of them, eating and breathing,
I do not deserve this luxuries,if they do not see me,
if they do not worship me.
I refused to be put in a box and as for this poem there is no form,
receive it as you please and let it speak to you,
let it flow through you,
I do not desire you sympathy,
do not support because you believe you know what I have been through,
this is not a cry for help but a warning,
I am here to learn and observe ,
so when its time for the game there is no denying my checkmate.
Copyright © Omozefe Omokhudu | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment