Shitty Poems

Finding Yourself

To all those who go out

To find themselves

Tell me,

What is out there

Among the faded lights?

Is there freedom out there

Or is it still confined

To the tiny space

Of what we understand?

And tell me

What did you find?

Do the colours look less whitewashed

The closer that you get?

Do the stars and sun shine brighter

Or can you not tell yet?

How far do you need to venture

To find the thing you want?

Do you even know it's out there?

Do you start to question it

When the world seems so vast

And among a sea of faces

You are a misfit

Tell me, how do you feel

When the things you know are real

Are all left behind

When you go out to find...

Find yourself? Find a friend?

Find a purpose? Find an end

To the lies that we are fed

How do you comprehend?

Does getting lost really

Help you find yourself?

Or is it a distraction

From something else?

What do you do if you come back

No closer than before

To being whole or being happy

Being found, being sure

What happens if the world

Has no answers to your questions?

What do you do then?

Have you any suggestions

For when the only thing you have faith in

Can't help you at all?

How do you carry on?

How do you take the fall?

'Cause when the lies you've been living on

Turn to dust and blow away,

When the ground you've been standing on

Can't support you today,

When all light has turned its back on you

And left you in the dark,

After your journey ends

But your questions remain stark...

Tell me, how do you live

With no knowledge and no friends?

Tell me, how do you walk

When your world's completely dark?

With no touches, with no noise

With no certainty, no voice

To raise and ask

The earth and void

For help

And for a sign...

What is life? What is love?

Who is the God above?

Why does he condemn

Us to suffering with no end?

Where's the map?

Where's the plot?

To our lives?

Have you forgot

That our questions still stand

To the person in command.

All we want is to find

The thing that is behind

Our existence and our lives...

Will plane tickets pay the price

To go out and find ourselves?

How many miles

How many years

Will this journey be?

How do we know for sure

That at the end

There'll be a cure?

What if there was nothing to find all along?

What if uncertainty and lies

Is our voice; our song?

What if we are useless pieces

And were never meant to fit?

'Finding yourself'

Was a lie all along

And we all believed it.

A.N. All my poems are rly short lately.