Who? Am? I? . . . :’(

Who? Am? I? . . .  :’(

(written by an ENFP)

Who am I? I say fuzzily . . .

A tear drips out of my eye, a single droplet.

I am the world’s savior I say . . .

As I look up and push my head up with my weak and trembling hand, with my tears streaming down to my square chin.

I give up, and my head nods to the ground.

I feel violent inside, not to let myself burden others.

Despair’s creepy shadow casts over me again . . .

  • Confusilyingly sometimes it can send a lulling calm sleep over you . . .

  • Taking you away . . .

I never realized how vulnerable I am. I will never let it show, only to a friend bestown on my will see.

She will watch my cry and cry with me. She will watch over me, and see all my vulnerabilities.

The only one.

Their is a price to be forever a child, even with the intelligence of a brilliant adult.

But it allows you to be shameless, especially about love. Your curiosity never fades, and love, care, and everybody around you who you care so deeply about, you will sacrifice and smile for them, they will never know. I kinda care about everyone.

These parallel universes are scary, the constant anomalies, and “wrong” feeling. The sounds, and how every time something will change. I weep.

Only a friend to guide me.

I have to bear the burden of the world on my shoulders, and can never be good enough to myself, usually never anything. I guess this is where my humility comes from.

I am supposed to be strong on the outside, but on the inside this could be no farer from the truth.

I wield my fists, leather, friend, “confidence” , and love, soon to need to be used.

But I’m lost, no identity, never enough. WHO AM I? ? ?  :‘ [   :‘ [   :‘ [   :‘ [

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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