Poem titled Vain by Paradise’s Storm

 


Vain

The word I dare not to partake in 

The word that reminds me why I pick up my pen 

And write poetry 

Why I let you deep inside my mind where most people hide things 

Vain and pain rhymes 

I wonder if those that are vain feels the same 

I wonder if they ever think to themselves… “aaahhhh what a shame”

Living on the surface level way too long 

No depth, no true intimacy..

Do you even bleed? 

Do you even want the thing called truth 

Or the thing called life 

Or are you satisfied with looking nice 

Is that all you care about 

Is there any depth to you at all 

Are you deep like an ocean 

Or shallow like a pool 

Am I wrong for assuming since you never show us what’s inside 

Or are you just the quiet type and like to keep things Abridged 

But quiet you must not be because your outer appearance speaks so proudly 

words of substance never utter from your lips 

Are you an attention whore 

Am I just hating on this

No I’m not I tell you 

I know I’m beautiful on the outside 

I’ve even been a “narcissist” 

or so they suggested once upon a time 

So my camera roll changed from selfies to words 

Words of strife 

Words of demise 

Words of pain I hid deep inside 

Words that turned into joy

and words of healing 

Words that calmed down the noise 

In my mind

Words that helped me back to my true self 

Before society reigned in my life 

Before i was a victim of peer pressure, bullying, and provocation 

Because while I posed in front of the camera 

My wounds grew deeper 

But I just ignored them

My pain grew thicker

So tough you couldn’t cut through it with knife 

Or a machete

The stubborn girl

Who locked her human neediness inside 

Who laid awake at night 

Thinking herself into abyss

Until her words started to bleed out 

On everything around her

On herself 

In the street 

Over all the things she cared for 

Until she was left with nothing 

but herself 

Nothing but those cold beige pages with black lines 

Where she realized her pessimistic thinking 

Her habit of pointing the finger 

And never looking at herself 

This poem started out about someone else 

But it ended up with me because anything 

That upsets me 

Was made for me

To heal me

To heal my wounds that I never even thought was true 


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