Poem of my very own composition: Some do not realize I am here, Forgetting me all the way. They never think to stop and ask, How I am getting on with my task. They are too busy with things, Not realizing I too am hurt. I think to myself how I wish, I had someone to talk with. I begin to feel that I am not The best that I could be. Maybe this path isn’t the best For a person quite like me. How I wish for an embrace, By someone who cares for me. How I wish God could come, And give me a strong hug. How do I know I can be Who I want to be; a writer. I wonder yet again, If only they cared. Maybe I could, Maybe I would, Be the one I want to be. But then I think That is selfish. I must be the one God needs of me. Writing must not be for me, For it is emptying my very soul. I spend hours with a book, But more I spend in tears How can something I love Be so terribly hard? I still seek an answer, As my days slip one then two. Before I know, I am too old To pursue the dream I once had. As I age, I regret my life, Wasted by such needless things. I wish once more that they were there, To help me through my strife. But nay they have forgotten me. Like a dandelion blown away…
Can’t believe I’m actually sharing this….
