Finding Out

People call me different


Say I’m living a dream

Past tense

No sense

And enjoying all the things they can’t see

It makes me wrong to adore the nighttime

And wish for twilight always

It makes me weird to reject the masses

Searching for truth until the end of my days

People don’t inspire me as much as poetry

But poetry would be obsolete without people

To read it

Write it

And insist its existence

So maybe people inspire me more than I think

Even with me misunderstanding their faces

And hastened interpretations of love

In spite of all my disassociation


And partially irrelevant accusations

I find that people accept me with great will

And have even become close friends

So the question is why did I spurn them

For so long

And what did I pass up

Because of my youth

Am I wrong because I didn’t know

Or because I wasn’t sure, and didn’t choose

To find out

2 thoughts on “Finding Out

  1. There is a beautiful insight of the beauty you possess here in your writing! Right off the bat I read your reflection. Never give others the power to dictate your heart! Dreaming is where greatness begins. If only people could find a way to fear not what does not matter, and believe in their own heart and soul, and remember that Everyone is seeking for answers, (who they have been, are, and wish to become?) and yet still judge while seeking. Poetry is a gallant voice and dares to venture out of the norm for the sake of believing in a new day, and maybe, just maybe, a new day! Your poem,”Poem of the day love”! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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