You (Understood).


You (Understood).

I proved to myself at a young age,

that the world couldn't prove it to me.

That people want something from me, 

but they don't want me.

That people want normalcy,

and they don't understand me.


That I was perfectly fine alone.

That I was perfectly fine at home.

That I can fit in outside for a time,

until invariably the cover gets blown.


I'm 34, people are starting to call me old, and I haven't got mine yet.

What would you do?

You'd flip out, right?

You'd scratch and claw.

You'd go down in flames.

Your venom would come out.


I don't care if I live or die,

but I won't be your example of an ordinary life.


I will not ever do what you want me to do,

and it appears that you don't care if I do anything,

so I'm gonna do something.


You might pretend to like it,

Lord knows you won't understand it,

but I have to do something.


It's me, and it's me alone.

Laying on the floor, playing at home.

I never changed, I'm still the same.

It's your ideas, it's your perception,

it's your distorted, assembly-line preconceptions,


That make me wanna blow my brains out, because you don't deserve me.

That make me wanna shut my heart down, because you don't deserve me.


You (Understood).


But if you understood, then why am I even here?

What am I supposed to show you?

If I showed it to you, would you even know?


I'm sure the charming boys, who got the girls,

are having such ordinary lives right now.

I used to think that was a bad thing; it's not.


People want ordinary lives.


They pretend they don't, but oh they do.


They all pretend to be so different,

but if you really saw something different,

not only would you not like it,

you woudn't even understand what it was.


It would scare the hell out of you.


It's always been all or nothing.

I spent a year trying to deny who I am.

To deny that I wanted anything,

or that I even existed.


I know now I can't do that.

That my way is the only way.

That I will never be happy being someone else, and maybe not even being myself.


But I can't deny it.


Denial is death of the Soul.

and I'm terrified of that.

Much more so than the physical death.

So I'm gonna run this body into the ground until there's nothing, I mean nothing,  left.


The Soul cannot die.

Why even try to pretend that it can?


You're old.


You're the one who wants to be what they want you to be.

I'm trying to do something you've never seen before,

and there's no way I can expect you to understand it.


For if you understood, you'd be me.


I'd like to say, "You'll get there,"

but you won't.


And I know it.


Which is why you can't understand.


You can't expect normal behavior from an abnormal person.

And I can't expect you to even grasp half of what that means.


Yes, it's always been all or nothing.

If you don't need me as much as I need you,

then I don't need you at all.


You (Understood).

Poem Comments


Please login or register

You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

Login or Register

Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

xtlsx’s Poems (21)

Title Comments
Title Comments
The death kiss. 1
Please. 0
P. 0
in-between state 0
you exist 0
let's go 0
You (Understood). 0
Thank You. 1
Brilliance 0
come and take 0
untitled 0
For Connie. 0
You are not 13 years old. 0
Release. 0
Keep. 0
Scream out. 1
untitled 1
No need. 0
I Read the Date. 0
So What's Your Belief? 1
Vibrant. 0