She looks the same.
Hair long, brown and ponytailed,
Eyes brown, observational and restless,
Body long, slim and pale.
But wait, something is different.
More knots in greasier hair,
A new depth to red-rimmed eyes,
A few bones poking out here and there.
From a distance the same, but close up different.
Everything so familiar and everything so new.
For who is this girl?
Is she who I thought I knew?
I try to look inside her, and I read the signs.
But I can't tell who she is.
All I know is that she's changed
But I don't know how.
I don't know who she is any more.
I treat her like the girl I knew,
But she isn't her any more.
Different emotions, different desires.
A different personality trying to get out.
But I don't know what that is.
So I chain her to her old self.
I don't know her any more.
But I can't ask her who she is.
Because she's a stranger.
Because she doesn't know herself.
Because she's me.
I am a stranger.
*Author's note: I found this irregular poem I drafted a year ago and thought it was poignant as recently I've been learning who I am again, so I thought I'd publish it*
YOU ARE READING
Into the Depths of Despair
Poetry"I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind. At these times, I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and...
