Every day, I'm waiting on.
Never waited on.
I have better things than waiting on, but I do.
"I don't have time!" they have better things than waiting on, so they don't.
Every day, I'm cleaning for.
Never cleaned for.
It's not my mess, but I clean it.
"It's not my mess!" It's not their mess to clean, so they don't.
Every day, I'm trampled over.
Never trampling over.
I can make them move, but I don't.
"Get outta my way!" They can make me move, so they do.
Every day, I'm judged by.
Never judging by.
I know that everyone is different, so I don't.
"She's weird!" They know that everyone is different, so they do.
Every day, I'm looking on.
On at the people.
On at myself.
Myself.
The people.
And I feel a strong disappointment
And I wonder as my eyelids grow weary, and my body grows tired;
Why am I
waiting on,
cleaning for,
trampled on,
and judged by?
And;
Why are they
waited on,
cleaned for,
trampling on,
and judging by?
But this wearies me, so at last, I fall asleep in a worthless body in a worthless dream.
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Fruit of the Soul; A Collection of Miscellaneous Writing
PoetrySo, I really love to write, but writing full stories is basically impossible for me. I've been dying to share my writing when it's for fun, so here is a "Collection of Miscellaneous Writing"! I hope you enjoy, because, well, who wouldn't want someon...
