Again I hear them down the steps.
What's wrong with me?
Why can't I cope?
Empty faces, none of which I really know.
All haunt me with their joy...
I am not a part of that joy.
That is what haunts me, that's the thing.
These people, all strangers
acquaintances at best.
And I am left to ponder why I am here at all.
I'll go back to that room at the end of this poem.
I'll smile, be brave, and face the torrent
of friends I've never known,
and people who don't want to know me.
I'll die inside the way I always do,
and come back later to pick up the pieces of me

shards of life
left strewn in the shell of who I am.

04/01/2003

Author's Note: A continuation...

Posted on 04/02/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia