Poets are those who love,--who feel great truths, And tell them.

February 1, 2014

How Me..

by Taylor

How is it that it's always me ?
I always lose everything .
I lost my hopes,
my dreams,
my happiness,
my everything.
I can't seem to find anything.
It all left when you did
When you died it killed parts of me
I can't share feelings with anyone,
I can't be happy,
No longer, can I truly be me

People tell me,
'Find Jesus'
'Find God'
I tell poeple,
'If they exist
I dont want to find them.
If they exist
they never took pity on me,
they never gave me a break.
They must have some sick sense of humor,
to see me suffer
to see me cry at night
do they take joy seeing that sight?'

How could it have been me ?
I'm not religious
Who do I talk to
now that you're gone,
Now that you're dead?
I have no one anymore.
My mom won't listen
won't even look at me.
I practically don't have a dad
And the family I once had,
That's just a pathetic joke now.
All I have to say is,
How, how me of all people
How was I struck
Struck with this, this streak
This streak of such bad luck
How? How?

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