Personal :: Poetry


I feel like Iím nothing,
Nothing but a part of society.
Like I donít belong to myself,
But am a slave to propriety.

I feel obscure, not real,
A reflection of civilization.
One face among millions, I feel,
Marching in unknown formations.

Not free to be myself,
What people see is delusion.
My soul is hid on a shelf
And all that I am is illusion.

.: :: personal :: poetry :.