Cliche of the Highest Degree

The only way to express myself has been through poems filled with 
Broken lines of half rhymes and empty metaphors.
"No one understands," I thought typically. I was a broken
Cliche with nothing interesting going on. "I was destined 
For greatness", at least that's what I tell myself when regarded
With anxiety and fear that I will never truly find what makes me passionate.

What makes me passionate?
I ask myself daily this question of thorns; why can't my mind and soul
Combine to find what truly matters in my mind and soul? 
My head and heart and body are one; or are they three
Separate entities trying to get their way with my future? My life
Is full indecision and acquiescence of the things that I want to figure out.

I want to figure out things like why is this person who is me 
So difficult and slow and sad and happy and insane and boring
All at the same time? The only way to truly express myself
Is through broken lines and sort of rhymes of why I feel the way I do,
So I feel the way I do and type my words, so passionately, I think. 

I think so passionately about others and their dreams so why
Can't I do the same for mine? Is it because they don't truly exist 
In this world? I live in this world and I love in this world and I 
Can't live or love without goals, dreams, visions, 
So am I living? Or am I dying so quietly inside that even
I can't seem to decide what's happening to me?

What's happening to me? Typing words is making me feel free;
So Free I can finally see what I want to be. I think I want to be a poet,
Someone who knows how to feel and what to say and where to lay
Their hearts down. Lay their hearts and thoughts and worries
Down on the pages of strangers in their favorite tomes-
I was raised on broken lines and half rhymes and honestly, that's just fine.

This poem is about: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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