Poem #403

Stuck between who I want to be and who I am. 
One leg in the light, the other cemented in the past. 
I look like a tortured statue worn out by time. 
A monument to a wasted life. 

Snow covers me,  
wind blows it away,  
the birds return, 
the sun burns  
and it never ends. 

My identity was torn apart so many times 
I can’t even pick up the pieces. 
It’s like a puzzle from hell, 
a punishment for not spending life well. 

The biggest pain of them all? 
Being a statue with a heartbeat, 
not knowing where my soul is.


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4 thoughts on “Poem #403

  1. “Being a statue with a heartbeat,
    not knowing where my soul is,” this might be the most powerful thing I’ve read in weeks, love it (even if it made me cry 😂) 💛💛

  2. … if it weren’t for my shadow, I wouldn’t know I was still alive.

  3. It’s so me. I can understand this pain.

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