My whole persona is a Paris syndrome,
Where you'll first see her smile then feel how alone,
I've made myself; hide behind a vicious mask.
To paint my true emotions is quite a task.
It's all shades of grey on a pallet of black.
That's all I can see since my smile went slack.
Used to sing like a blue bird with melody,
Now trapped behind clear bars wanting to be free.
Can't speak to a friend or even a stranger.
There's nothing I can do to try and change her.
She just sits behind the mask deep in my mind,
Tries to stir up trouble with all she can find,
Causes scenes in the streets to put up a show.
Once applause erupts it's her time to go.
They think it's for fun, for pure entertainment,
But really it's a break in her containment.
She giggles from making me look like a joke,
Forcing me to hide deeper behind my cloak.
This routine replays in the street every day,
Redulling my pain to neutral shades of grey.
Wish to break free from my invisible cell,
Because to stay this way is to live in hell.
YOU ARE READING
A Random Collection of Poems
PoetryIn this collection of poetry, you'll find poetry about love, mental health, and existential questions. Who would be the last person you'd speak to? If you had a choice, would you rather drown or burn? How do people with mental struggles cope unheal...
