A Moment Of Your Time.
A Little Story, Dear.
I sat there staring at the wall. I need no introduction, no name, and most of all no recognition. It’s a funny thing, sitting in the dark. You feel so alone and empty…yet for all you know, somebody’s just beyond the range of sight. A lurking specter flitting in and out of the night light’s glow. I won’t tell you who I am, I don’t even know you…chance are, you don’t know the real me either.
“How long has he been sitting like that?” a small voice whispered.
“All night…should we see if he’s okay?” another responded.
“No. Let him be, he’ll pull through. He always does,” the small voice sighed.
I grew up in my head, not really enjoying the small comforts of the outside world. I was the “odd-guy”, the “silly little child” with a warped sense of humor. I always kept on saying maybe; just maybe if I write poetry or pour my heart onto paper…the echoing feeling would go away. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family and the life they gave me. They helped me when nobody else would, I love them…
“He doesn’t look so good, someone go and tap his shoulder,” the small voice murmured again.
“You’re right, let’s just give him five more minutes,” hushed another voice.
I’m an artist, I’m a poet, I’m the guy who’d be a good friend…maybe a little flawed and rough around the edges, but a GOOD friend. My pictures show my humor and people laugh happily when they see these creations. It warms my heart. But they don’t laugh at my words—my poetry. Some scrunch up their noses in disdain, while others cry in relief. I’m called trash, emo, a whack job, and even goth…sometimes. People only see what I want them to see, but even armor chinks.
“Hey, is he crying?” whispered the small voice again.
“Shit, I don’t think he’s started up his old habits again,” another worried voice returned.
“Come on, he’s had enough alone time,” the small voice said firmly.
When the going gets tough, I hold it in and pray the pain doesn’t come. I smile, I laugh, and go on my merry way. I have only a few friends, but a world of admirers. Do they really like me or is it my “poetry” they crave? If they met me on the street, would they take a second glance and wonder if I was worth their time? Happy…that’s what I feel—it’s a blessing in disguise. I’m not hiding much anymore, but some secrets are mine and mine alone.
I found myself…have you?
“How long has he been sitting like that?” a small voice whispered.
“All night…should we see if he’s okay?” another responded.
“No. Let him be, he’ll pull through. He always does,” the small voice sighed.
I grew up in my head, not really enjoying the small comforts of the outside world. I was the “odd-guy”, the “silly little child” with a warped sense of humor. I always kept on saying maybe; just maybe if I write poetry or pour my heart onto paper…the echoing feeling would go away. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family and the life they gave me. They helped me when nobody else would, I love them…
“He doesn’t look so good, someone go and tap his shoulder,” the small voice murmured again.
“You’re right, let’s just give him five more minutes,” hushed another voice.
I’m an artist, I’m a poet, I’m the guy who’d be a good friend…maybe a little flawed and rough around the edges, but a GOOD friend. My pictures show my humor and people laugh happily when they see these creations. It warms my heart. But they don’t laugh at my words—my poetry. Some scrunch up their noses in disdain, while others cry in relief. I’m called trash, emo, a whack job, and even goth…sometimes. People only see what I want them to see, but even armor chinks.
“Hey, is he crying?” whispered the small voice again.
“Shit, I don’t think he’s started up his old habits again,” another worried voice returned.
“Come on, he’s had enough alone time,” the small voice said firmly.
When the going gets tough, I hold it in and pray the pain doesn’t come. I smile, I laugh, and go on my merry way. I have only a few friends, but a world of admirers. Do they really like me or is it my “poetry” they crave? If they met me on the street, would they take a second glance and wonder if I was worth their time? Happy…that’s what I feel—it’s a blessing in disguise. I’m not hiding much anymore, but some secrets are mine and mine alone.
I found myself…have you?
♠ ♠ ♠
I don't exspect any comments, but they'd be appreciated.It's short, but straight to the point.
Enjoy.