Being young made for bliss,

not even thinking what's behind the mist in my eyes,

or even knowing there was such a thing.

I lived in the center of the room, everyone's eyes on me.

They made me feel special, showered me with attention.

But slowly I learned, through the hints of words sprinkled in,

that there was a world outside my doorstep

and that eventually, I'd get to know it.

Would it become my friend, or my enemy, that outside world?

I was promised and reassured by family and friends alike that it would be my friend.

But as years slipped by through my fingers, so did the mist behind my eyes

and I learned, though media and mayhem, the misdeeds it was capable of,

the “dark side” if you will.

I became educated.

With both fists in the sand, I uncovered the most displeasant truths.

Every week, the newest shooting.

Nazis returning from behind the veil,

waiting for the coast to clear so they can spread their poison onto the plates of the young.

I let it consume me, fill me with misery.

The world is not the friend I was promised,

far from it. It is now my enemy.

With high school came back the mist from long ago,

but now tinged with the color of hatred.

I let people step on me,

after all, what's one more bruise to the canvas?

The world is not my Friend.

As even more time flew away, flock by flock,

I came to terms with my mental illnesses.

The world did not cause them,

but I still wanted to blame the world for my suffering.

Want evaporated, along with the energy of youth,

and eventually, the red-tinted mist began to lift once more.

Clarity still eluded me, but the mist from before had traded itself

for an awareness I'd never known before.

For the first time, I understood that if I wanted clarity

I'd have to work for it.

The world is not my enemy.

Actions speak louder than words,

change only comes to those who push for it.

And then I finally realized,

If I wanted a friend out of the world,

then I'd have to work for it.