Member-only story
A Room Full Of People
An unpublished poem that laid in silence, like the quiet years of my life.
I walked into the crowd with hope in my chest,
A smile on my face, my fears laid to rest.
But under the laughter, behind every grin,
The Silence grew louder, like something caving in.
No stares of disdain, no awkward goodbyes,
Just voices and faces, but none met my eyes.
I sat there and wondered, not saying a word,
A ghost in the corner, not seen and not heard.
Why am I writing? What good does it do?
These thoughts in my head, are they honest or true?
Am I a writer, or chasing a lie?
Why do I falter each time that I try?
Why can’t I sparkle, or brighten a day?
Why do I vanish when words drift away?
Are my best traits all buried or small?
And if I have some, do they matter at all?
Why do I long just to feel I belong?
To think someone sees me and nothing feels wrong?
Is it self-pity to pen all this pain?
To wish I could smile and not fake it again?
