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Inner Reflections
17 years ago
Oh journal thing, ye who's there for me to rant on whenever I'm not balancin' right on my plate,
Who's there for me to lay out the thoughts poking, invading, screaming in my head...
Tell me, tell me! Is it everyone who feels this way? Is it everyone who goes through this? Anyone even?
Is it normal to feel like a ghost? Is it normal to be places yet not be there at the same time?
To be in line, but never get rung up? To be the day that seemingly vanishes off a calendar?
How is it possible? Am I too pale? Are they blind? Or am I the blind one?
Journal, oh journal, won't you tell me? Why do I feel this way?
Why do their eyes reflect like mirrors? Why does their glance pierce my very soul?
Do mine do the same? What do they see in the reflections?
How can one be the known unknown? Always there, but never truly found, never truly understood?
Just there, surrounded by people, but still alone?
I walk the same path almost every day, I see the same people on an almost daily basis.
But the faces are always different, is it the same for me? Scrambled name tags, who is who?
No true name of my own, alien in my own mind, how can I identify?
We do our things, we pack up, we head home.
"Home".
Where do I go? Why do I go?
...how did I end up here in the first place? The memory is lost to me.
Did I let myself get walked over? Did I lose the race?
Did I even know the rules before I started? So confused, so lost.
In the end I watch the sun and the moon trade places, another day counts down to my life,
Yet here I am again. Exhausted, deprived, hungry, lonely.
I still don't know where to go, who to see, what to do. Or what for.
I live another day on someone's generosity, treading clumsily on a tightrope.
How do I even get by, when I can't even take care of myself?
Still I have not done anything to leave behind me, no memories, no legacy.
When all is said and done, will I ever have been known? Not by many, but even a few?
Would even a single person have picked the locks and opened the chest?
When time stops for one and continues for others, will they remember?
What will they remember? Scribbles? A name? A face? Or a person?
Or will I just be a ghost?
That person everyone saw, but always forgot?
The kid present in class, but whom the teacher still wrote as absent?
A loner, a wanderer? A thousand and one acquaintances, but no true friend?
Empty hole or heart of gold? Would I have ever felt for real? Would -I- have ever felt real?
In the end, will I ever have done anything more with my life than just try to survive?
Who's there for me to lay out the thoughts poking, invading, screaming in my head...
Tell me, tell me! Is it everyone who feels this way? Is it everyone who goes through this? Anyone even?
Is it normal to feel like a ghost? Is it normal to be places yet not be there at the same time?
To be in line, but never get rung up? To be the day that seemingly vanishes off a calendar?
How is it possible? Am I too pale? Are they blind? Or am I the blind one?
Journal, oh journal, won't you tell me? Why do I feel this way?
Why do their eyes reflect like mirrors? Why does their glance pierce my very soul?
Do mine do the same? What do they see in the reflections?
How can one be the known unknown? Always there, but never truly found, never truly understood?
Just there, surrounded by people, but still alone?
I walk the same path almost every day, I see the same people on an almost daily basis.
But the faces are always different, is it the same for me? Scrambled name tags, who is who?
No true name of my own, alien in my own mind, how can I identify?
We do our things, we pack up, we head home.
"Home".
Where do I go? Why do I go?
...how did I end up here in the first place? The memory is lost to me.
Did I let myself get walked over? Did I lose the race?
Did I even know the rules before I started? So confused, so lost.
In the end I watch the sun and the moon trade places, another day counts down to my life,
Yet here I am again. Exhausted, deprived, hungry, lonely.
I still don't know where to go, who to see, what to do. Or what for.
I live another day on someone's generosity, treading clumsily on a tightrope.
How do I even get by, when I can't even take care of myself?
Still I have not done anything to leave behind me, no memories, no legacy.
When all is said and done, will I ever have been known? Not by many, but even a few?
Would even a single person have picked the locks and opened the chest?
When time stops for one and continues for others, will they remember?
What will they remember? Scribbles? A name? A face? Or a person?
Or will I just be a ghost?
That person everyone saw, but always forgot?
The kid present in class, but whom the teacher still wrote as absent?
A loner, a wanderer? A thousand and one acquaintances, but no true friend?
Empty hole or heart of gold? Would I have ever felt for real? Would -I- have ever felt real?
In the end, will I ever have done anything more with my life than just try to survive?
Things change in time. For the moment, just remember what I do. "At least I'm not on fire".
And if you want to make another friend, I'm usually good to chat with. :)