Sunday, November 21, 2010

Behind closed doors

A few years ago, perhaps 4-5 years ago, I used to wake up everyday with an idea for a new poem to write. Perhaps I was depressed? Perhaps it was a way for me to release feelings I never let anyone know I had? Perhaps it was a way for me to speak up on behalf of other?

While I was going through my laptop yesterday, looking for a novel I had written a long time ago so I could read it to my friend, a poem which I had written also popped up. I had forgotten all about it and what it had meant to me at the time.

(Keep in mind that I hold the copyrights to the poems that I post on this blog, and that any attempts of stealing and putting your name under them will be reported to the police.)

Perhaps the girl who smiles and laughs  
Is not so happy at all,
And the only reason she stands tall is of fear that she might fall.

Perhaps the rich guy you see in school
Is not so rich at the end of the day,
And juggles two jobs at a time just for a decent pay,
So he doesn’t get kicked out of college, but affords to stay.

Perhaps the girl who walks around pretending all is well
Goes home in the evening and creeps back into her shell,
There she can cry and there she can be scared,
Because in end no one really cared.

Perhaps the guy who walks around with a gun close to his heart
Is only scared to open up so he’s not torn apart.
His eyes are constantly at the back of his head
In case someone comes along and decides to shoot him dead.

Perhaps the girl with the plastic smile
And all the perfect things,
Struggles just to like the true person she is within.
Every morning is a phase with make-up and perfect shoes,
But when the day is over she is back home with the blues.

Perhaps the girl whose referred to as fat and slightly bigger than the rest,
Struggles with insecurities because she’s tried her best
And yet is not accepted by society or family,
She feels that she’s not good enough although she’s tried to be.

What society expects of us is what we’re trying to be,
Forgetting it’s not everyone who was made to be a size three,
And forgetting that not everyone came from a rich family,
And forgetting that not everyone in this world was made to see
That vanity upon vanity, all is vanity.

We create at least a million of each of the people here described,
And when they are gone we ask why they took their lives.

It’s up to us to make a change,
The change can start with us,
So that not all disasters have to end up with a loss.

Copyright © 2010 Chika Anene

Chika x x