Try

This is not a poem, but a try
To cry, to shout, so hear me out

We're told to write the pain away
But what if when I write the pain revisits
My mind, my body, my emotions
Everything I try to protect from it?

Maybe I should express about my life
Or what is left of it, at least
No family I have in sight
But I am levelled, as my parents are fine

For personal, I have no one
The friends I made soon pushed away
Or maybe chose to leave my side
They have their life, as I have mine

On the work side of things
I think I hate it, I don't know
Almost the age where everything should be in order
I can not find my site, for roots to grow

As social, acquaintances are scarce
I don't like people, at first sight
But truth be told I like observing them
Just no mingle, since small talk kills the joy away

Let's go on hobbies, but it's like
I find no joy in anything
It will all pass, so where's the point
Of doing something anyway?

But, oh, so, oh, on the romantic
I think I liked him way too much
I think I loved him way too deep
And that became a shallow grave
And afterwards, when all was done
No love for life, for anything
Just passing day and passing life
I try to climb out of it

Where I was born, somewhere close
There is a cemetery there
When I was little, I liked to roam
The last home of memories they gave

But now I roam my mind each day
Of books and poems I can not write
Of memories I somewhat know
I recognise from my past

I travel in the worlds forgotten
Not in this universe, nor time
I make up stories just in hope
In one of them I will find mine

I still have love, but just no flame
I still have dreams, but just no aim
To make them mine, to try at least
To fall again, to burn, to rise

We’re told to write the pain away
But every time I seek to write
It just comes back and takes again
All of the tries I strive to make

This is not a poem, but a try
To love, to hurt, to find myself