Most times I feel like
I'm the only one
who goes through 'this shit',
and that the world wouldn't really
miss it if I
choked down a bullet.
Most times I stand tall
while I walk down halls,
'cause I feel tough
from carryin' the toxic bullshit
of this lazy environment
that I've had a hand in
makin' and sustainin'.
I see the world outside
through tinted lenses
of websites,
the kinds where people write
on their social lives.
In cosmopolitan blogs
the people type all day on how
there's another social game
that you have to play
or you can kiss your life away
when nobody forgives you
for making the mistakes
and leaving things
left unsaid.
YOU ARE READING
This Gray, Unfortunate Place (2)
PoetryPoetry that straggles the heartstrings. (You don't have to have read the first book.)
