A constant pounding on the inside
Trying to escape the feeling,
Of being crushed by the idea of
Yourself, that others are seeing.

I’m pounding on the doors.
They aren’t bending to my command.
Yet I do the same for,
All the people that demand.

That I shut myself inside
For I don’t have the strength.
To break free from my shackles,
All my hope is spent.

Some laugh, some pity.
Some try to act like nothing has changed,
It didn’t occur, I did not try,
and then shamefully fail.

Failure is the fatal poison to my hope,
Of thinking, one day I shall be worthy.
To rise and make my kin proud,
But I fell before I even tried for glory.

She laughs at me, “You?”
She says, “Are not worthy of love.
Not that anyone would want to,
You have nothing to be proud of.”

Maybe she’s right, maybe not.

The only way to decide,
Is to vanish; a soul lost young.
And see if anyone pays their respects,
To the soul not worthy of love.

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