Perfect People Poem by Della Perry

Mingling with the perfect people is exhausting
Ghosting circles between their beautiful beings
Golden, glowing, calm, serene, or so they seem,
Whilst my heart aches with their unsaid thoughts,
Emerging pain dibillitating dreams
Raging in my chaotic brain
They flounce, they glide, they smile
But hide their truths
Whilst I do not
It spills and overflows, its tsunami of hell encompasses all
Hell grasps, it squeezes, chokes the breath
Freedom is a ridiculous notion
Life is never poetry in motion
It is poetry of neglect and traumatised pain
It is the pretence of everyone around
Who hide their truth to fit in
It is exhausting
Should I become a clone
Fit in to their cubed pretence?
Become robotic, hidden feelings, hidden grimaces, hidden in cupboards of emotions.
Or continue to float unseen
Invisible amongst the crowd.
I hate my own abilities.
It's exhausting. I'm exhausted.
I'm laying down.
Before I drown in unsaid thoughts of the perfect people that pervade my own.

Della Perry
PoetryPezx 23 November 2024 x