Stories > Poems

Apparently, people are telling me that my stories are better than my poetry/whatever you wanna call them stuff. Though most people agree that I am a talented writer. I doubt that. I use writing as a form of expressing what is going through the endless abyss that I call my mind. So, without further ado, here's another one!

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After all I've been through, I guess I'm a stronger person.
Yet I act like I've yet to learn my lesson.
It's messin with the being within me, seriously.
But I keep on moving onward like there is hope in creating a better me.
Honestly, I feel like I'm never going to change.
Because I do not look in the mirror and feel strange.
I am who I am, passed that teenage range.
A time where the mind is easily influenced.
The time where nerds and geeks transform and morph to a being that's truant.
We're only human and truancy is an easy way to be accepted socially.
They excel mentally and verbally but they lack physically.
That was me back in 1999.
A young child who's heart and soul's always on the line.
I'm still that kid, except I'm riddled with battle scars.
Resulted from when logic moved on to Mars.
And stars, how I wish I could reach them.
But it seems the harder I try, the more problems come from them.
So I hide from them, burying those dreams under ten feet of dirt.
The same stars that are chemically inert, found physically in earth, I've had them thought of mentally since birth.
And now they're worthless because nothing stays constant.
And it's these demons that are becoming more dominant.
I wish to get rid of them but I just can't.
It's an impossibility for me to change like altering the diet of a caniverous plant.
A transplant may be my only hope but I'm one of a kind.
As the days pass by, I'm running out of time.
But for now, I'm perfect through my own two eyes.
So as I sigh and wave another meaningless goodbye.
I won't change because I'm satisfied with how I turned out.
I'm inhuman, illogical, I'm Angelo, and I'm signing out.