Year Anniversary On Myspace! -

Context (Before Reading):

I wrote this poem mid July, slowly working on it for a couple weeks. It was supposed to be my thoughts on being introverted, but honestly it isn't decisive.  It sort of speaks about my shift towards speaking to people after the death of a loved one I left on bad terms with.

My teacher told me there should be more context, but I don't know how I would add that.

1

To stay silent in my eyes is a blessing, 

 However beckoning confusion among many

For how can words simply describe the entirety of my soul? 

False words, false choices aren’t seen with our eyes

Fifteen years of my life I’ve spent through silence,

Unknown to the limelight

Yet it consumes my living conscience

How much time is left before I lose myself?

Oh the memory, 

Left buried in the forest among the soils of my mind

Sunlight shines through the relationships left behind

Too restricted, too annoying, too close minded

Too little time before death steals you from me.

The day you died, 

Was the day I realised I couldn’t drown in silence

Gold reflects upon my brown eyes,

The last part of her, a quiet spark I never forgot

Politics, culture, is not of sound anymore

All I have left to feel is the melody of my surroundings

No, you don’t know how I feel

I’m a human being

I have real emotions, the ability to feel sadness

Tears of happiness, blossom the gardens of my mind

Full of life, yet to overflow

You don’t know I’ve stood on the sidelines

Scared to test time, waiting for life to come to me

As my youth quickly slipped away

Now seventeen, I’ve shed my silence

Something I so wish to hold in my arms again, 

My youth and innocence, the first thread of my heart

For it unlocked my kindness , my willingness to help others

Yet susceptible to the words of my loved ones

Fraying the fibers of that red string

Humanity, so overwhelmed with the concept of hate

 That we reminisce on the purest version of ourselves, 

Learning to speak, learning to walk

Childhood is something so wished away,

 until it’s finally out of our grasp

Is it ironic? 

I sit here now, writing to you simply through words

Like every amber tinted memory would move into the souls of my readers

It can never move you entirely,

There is never someone who can truly see through your woven heart