My condition is very odd
I am somewhere in the middle
No direct label
Nothing can be used to describe what I am
Bruised and bloodied
But still kind of steady
Very odd
I am somewhere in the middle
When it is tense I giggle
When it is calm I cry
I am never subtle
You can hear me whistle
Call me a cripple
Call me a Saint
Tell me I've sinned
Tell me I'm fake
I am somewhere in the middle
I am very little
So you can't quite see me in the mix
I have to build a tower made of bricks
Just so they could spot me
But then all they see are my tics
And call me odd once more
No direct label can be used to describe what I am
Nothing
That is what I am
Sometimes it is what I feel
But then my thoughts are rushing quickly once more
Now I feel dizzy
My head jerking
Arms tensing
tired and anxious of their teasing
All these feelings are overwhelming they build me up to a manic state I feel like dancing in a club
Howling like a wolfcub
The wind lifts me up and up
I am so high I can barely breathe
I stop to catch my breath, no longer steady
But still very cunning
Still very odd
It is like a ship in a heavy storm in my head and all around me
I can feel it I am running low on energy
I thought I could do this for all eternity
I am odd
Questioning my identity
No direct label can be used for what I am feeling
I stop
Until I fall
I am nothing
YOU ARE READING
A Tale Of Woe
PoetryJust my poems here :) All of the poems are published in the order i've written them TW Mentions of: ED, SH, suicide, and just sad shit in general
