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'Hello' From My Brain

By Zoe MullenPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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Is it so hard to simply tell the truth

It shouldn’t be so difficult, so strenuous.

But still to this day, I can’t find the heart within me

To share my sensitivities with another.

To reveal my honest expressions.

No this is not easy at all to say

That I simply can’t find myself to matter that much at all.

No one can comprehend the amount of energy and clout

Its grown and grown and grown to the point it wears my heart thin

To ask me the question “am I happy” takes a matter of seconds

To consider my answer takes a matter of hours

For the term “being elated” or “being joyous” takes on the impersonation of an understatement.

Once on a chilly yet beautiful night filled with stars I listened to a man speak out to a crowd,

“You are facing a glass window and on one side is happiness and on the other, you”

I ponder and ponder that statement

Staring blankly into the crowd in front of me I flew and hid beneath my hair and burrowed into my mind

Whispering into my own ear,

“Picture and imagine that window as a brick wall instead and that’s what this feels like”

When I laid my head down to sleep that night with warm arms wrapped around me

I wondered and questioned myself, what was wrong with me?

Not worthy of friendships

Not worthy of love

Not worthy of time of others

Not worthy of myself

Not even those arms wrapped around me so softly with the gentle breaths of the person who is sleeping so soundly

Years upon years has this shadow follows my every footstep

Whether the ground be rock or soil

And he has not tired himself yet and that day I surely await for.

All up to me is what I tell myself, only me

And it’s okay though for my body shouldn’t cause the worry of someone else

Nor my pestering brain.

My curiosity is what wakes me each morning

And lets me slumber each evening.

This is nothing but idiocracy!

This should be nothing! Nothing but dense thoughts that’ll disintegrate.

If only this could be called a nightmare from the past

But alas it’s still a nightmare of my present.

Which path will my tired able body tread along?

Who knows,

Not even thyself.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Zoe Mullen

I like to write poetry that is both sad and funny. I'm also a great comedian.

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