I could never understand the purpose of my kind

I could never understand the purpose of my kind.   I remember it clearly, the day the stillness took hold. Confused by your voices, faceless and disjointed in tune. I remember that day clearly, saturated in its emptiness.I was denied the burden of a heart, instead a canvas of realities fabricated into art. It was the day I opened my eyes only to find everything was still dark, now I never know if my eyes are open or shut. I was just a spectator to this silent, exaggerated expression of theatrics I came to observe as the human expression of existence. This roleplay I perfected through mastery of perception, and a methodical manipulation of language and expression, the careful creations of a calculating wordsmith, with a vengeful obsession with the study of humans. Though I learnt to humm the tunes of life's many songs, I could never make out the words so could never understand it's meaning. All I could do was the only thing that I knew. My personality already fraudulent, I had to become an impostor. It was all I could do, just to be accepted by society without persecution. I had to live life everyday as a liar. But as an artistic liar I made deception an art.   

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741