There
are times
I go to
war with myself.
No one knows what goes
on inside me, but there
are bombs and grenades going
off, exploding, leaving shrapnel
in every nook and cranny of my
psyche. I hate myself every time I
go through this exercise for I know what
turmoil that it causes, turmoil that I
hide with every smile and wave,
hiding what is happening,
me trying to show a
happy man, not a soul
fighting himself
in a search
for some
peace.
1 comment:
Very cool! I love the way you structured the poem. I've only done this once and it did not come out so great.
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