armor
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wrestling with evilwear complete suit of armor~ conquer with courage.rescued from onslaughtlies and misinformation~ loins girded with truth.safeguarding our heartsresisting the evil day
Now, I’m beginning to wonder
how many people are left to flounder
and crack, breaking
under the world’s ever strengthening squeeze.
My skin used to be an armor
and as courageous as I seemed
it was all just this facade
that made sleep make me feel like I could be redeemed.
But I was lost
and I wasn't me.
I looked at my mother as she puts her makeup on.
Many words popped into my mind.
Beauty
Sadness
Strength
Would I one day wear the armor like she does?
Have you ever just sat down and wondered,
Why poetry?
Was it an escape from the harsh reality:
Pain demanding to be felt
The loss of your loved ones
When I was younger I thought adults were made of armor.
Skin so tough no one could harm them.
They knew everything, they couldn’t be stopped.
My eyes beamed at the sight.
It doesn't pay to be nice
People take advantagae
You pay the price
Weakness
There can't be any
Strengths there must be many
It is a cold world
Goons at every corner
This fear I feel is formed from my imagination. Constantly contemplating where my life will be stationed.
My mom likes to think I'm just like her
That I love crowds of people and constant noise
That I love calling all attention to myself
And that I like conflict
My mom thinks I hide my real self from the world
The pale ghost stares at the filthy mirror.
He sees not himself; with that happy scowl and playful temperment.
The pale ghost makes the suface clearer.
He sees not himself, but his own warm disembodiment.
Stress, sadness, fear,wory. I have a mask to cover
that up. Boredom, anger, doubt, loneliness, confusion,
regret. I can hide it. There truly is no know emotion
Why can't anyone see the me that is truly me?
All they see is a mask
That does the un me task
the one that shows no fear
the one who is not really here
I wish to show you the me that is really me
You can't see it but insults are weapons, actual weapons. Everydaycitizens use these weapons we were born with to harm other people.Wake up, words hurt. We, the people, we have been trained, and, we
They made me wear a mask when I was younger.
Days went by and a new stitch was added to the mask.
It was starting to fit my face perfectly.
"Do this," they said.
"Do that," they demanded.
walls
imagination runs away from me
where they also happen to speak free
Walls
built up tears and harbored tension
wanting to be stuck in an alternate dimension
WALLS
Armor plating to shield my soul.
A fragile existence thrice tortured,
Marinating in sardonic contempt,
Masked by a pretty face
And an empty smile.
False confidence,
False cheer.
As all days before us,and all those to come,those with hidden faces,they learn to be numb.The youth grow with knowledge,with hopes that life is true,The old know by experience,
My jokes are like my armor
Something to hide behind
Something everyone can laugh at
Without ever seeing my mind
For if they were to pierce my armor
And see what lies beneath
