Real Me
Learn more about other poetry terms
its always been you
you've been there all along
the perfect harmony to my everlasting song
you took my breath away
you made me proud of who i am today
you helped me to see who i really am
What's the point of talking nicely, if you are always stepped over on?
What's the point of asking politely, if you never get what you want and need?
What's the point of being good, if you are treated second-rate?
You don't know me
Not the real me
You don't know the boy inside me
The boy that I am
You don't know the tears I shed
The many times I cry myself to sleep
You don't know the me that loves girls
"The dreams of a girl
Not her own thoughts
Deeper i fell
I was taught,
How to kill.
Only in dreams
Would i see Such a thing
The horror seeped through
No longer i trust
You don't wanna see the real me
You don't care
Why do you act like you care
Is it because maybe if I believe you for just one second
I might pull back my layers
Never have I seen anything about myself as flawless;
The cuts that once covered my body, like paint strokes on a damaged canvas,
Just like that,
I curl inside the empty cavern between rib bones and hip joints,
just like that,
Every day single,
I fake my life
Not in my morals,
or my personality.
What's fake are my emotions.
The ones that I choose to show, but in reality it's this mask I choose to wear.
I rap like a rapper
I Po et like a poet
My mind is abstract
But who really knows it
If I am a box
A square full of roses
Concealed to the world
Who really knows it?
The universe where entropy increases, chaos is truth.
I am the strong and the weak force which try to stabilize the inner elements of the heavens,
I choose life over death. I choose living with the rest.
Fighting, fighting through hell. Ringing all these bells for help.
Helpless.
An intense electrical pain filters through my scared body.
My unlucky limbs become violently uncontrollable.
Shaking.
Trembling.
Tense.
Afraid.
I scream in my head for it to stop!
How difficult is it to simply be ourselves?
At a young age we're all taught that who we are isn't enough-
Not tall enough, they say.
Not pretty enough, they say.
Not smart enough, they say.
Very well groomed, always clean
Unkept, unshaven, and periodically obscene
Focused, driven, and ready to work
Distracted, halted, forever needing a job
I am the man with which you would share your life story
I differ in home than I do in school, in stores, in Restaraunts; in places out of home.
When it comes to school, the strong love and affection I Feel for my friends, my adoration, hide within my Bodies' boundaries.
Who gives a damn about the real me. Nobody
Nobody really cares about who you are
Whenever you talk to someone you are just speaking to their repersentative
People who try to be real are shunned
Behind the Curtain,
I am a mere man,
Trying to live life the best I can,
Just like the other 7 billion people on Earth.
Behind the Curtain,
I am a dreamer,
My eyes are the windows to my soul
What's inside of me does it glitter like gold?
Take a sneak peek just to see the real me
to whom I express my individuality
I am Marley,
The child of the long lost south.
You have never met me, but heard of me by mouth.
Bombarded with questions since the day I have arrived
You are hilarious, the joker, the funny one
the comic relief
Quips fall off Your tongue like water and raise off Your body like sunlight and You
“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”
I am just a woman who hides behind things.
I know one thing is for certain,
