The Underlying Truth

Underneath the filters lies a beauty, not for the quality of appearance, but the circumstantial strength that shines brighter than even the most flawless.

 

Yeah I’m breathing, but with every breath I take it seems as if a drop of death is splattered across my canvas.

 

Yeah I’m happy, but when those words are spoken, a reason to take them back presents itself.

 

Yeah I’m scared, but with grievance after grievance, what is fear anymore?

 

Yeah I’m lost, and nowhere to be found.

 

I am a great thinker, but please do not feel obligated to envy me; for thinking provides to anxiety.

 

Anxiety…

 

My anxiety has nestled a spot in my chest.

 

It chirps to the song of my soul and slithers into the cracks and crevices that seek the most attention.

 

From there, it burrows itself in the depths of sorrow and envy that lie painstakingly, never reaching a point of no return, but eternal life.

 

Human nature defeats it’s purpose of obtaining sanity; this I have come to believe is the most reasonable explanation for our ever-changing philosophy.

 

I remember when I used to cry, and when I’d wiped my tears I’d see clarity.

 

Now I cry, wipe my tears, and see eyeliner.

 

My soul has grown, and under this smile is an understanding of reality.

 

Reality has opened my eyes, and made them rain.

 

I feel as if I’m drowning, getting deeper and deeper the more I think.

 

The further I sink, the less I can catch my breath, and God I just want to breathe.

 

Behind these hazel eyes, darkened by the shadows of makeup is not only despair, but also hope; where there is hope there is light.

 

I pick myself up off the floor, catching every dagger spun at my chest.

 

This is a forever sort of thing in the novel of my life, but I refuse to let my story end here.

 

To some, I may just be a drop in the ocean, or a grain of sand; they think I’m just a penny in a dollar, or a single page of a book.

 

What everyone so easily overlooks is that I could be the drop that fills the ocean, and that last grain of sand; I could be the penny that makes a dollar, and your favorite page.

 

This is me, unmasked.

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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