The man on the mirror who wants to speak perfectly

I look at him

He stared at my flashing eyes

They're conceived by sadness in disguise 

If I stared at it long enough

Maybe it'll probably cry

Maybe if I speak to it two hours a day, I can try

Instead, my knuckles bleed from the shatters of broken glass

The blood drips like raindrops and I cover it like my past

Friends only want friends who can speak like formal gentlemen 

I burn this language as each letter gets petrified by my gaze

This language I have to use for the rest of eternity 

There's no other way I can improve for it to strive

Every single time I speak out, I'm always afraid I would get shot with discouragement

Every single perfect speaker I see always have people by their side

And I'm always stuck with me, myself, and I 

My speech impediment and my awkward speaking tells me to commit suicide

And I almost followed it

Pulled the pills off my counter

Instead, I threw the pills down the drain

I woke up and started a new day 

Trying to become stronger than yesterday

I don't know how, but I have faith

Faith that's long lost in the forest

But I still search for it every single day

And that there are other languages to absorb.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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