Tinted Glasses

I look at the world through dark-tinted glasses these days. My eyes seek out the dreary and lost, My shaking words ghosting comfort over the broken and betrayed. I can't be blamed for the lonely way I gaze at life. At such a young age, my life has been filled with too many misunderstood tragedies. My body is a pastel painting of the battles I've fought. My soul is an open diary of the hits this wary vessel has suffered; easily read if one would only care enough to try. When obstacle after obstacle slam into us like waves, it is only natural to lose hope. I've been told that hope is nothing more than a cruel red herring. Designed to ease us into the comforting embrace of failure. I kindly disagree. Without hope, I would've surrendered my life to the demons that claw at my insides long ago. Hope is the only reason I can proudly say I'm still standing.