Roaring is Akin to Chirping
I thought I was a lion,
Ripping my way through enemies,
Roaring for what I believe in,
And never being quiet enough
To give into the monotony of the crowd.
I thought I had a loyal pack
That was ready to follow me into battle,
Unquestionably at my side.
Another who would sweep me off my feet
If I really wanted them to.
But here, sitting cross-legged on a hard stone bench
With the cold burning a hole through my jeans,
I realize my title as “King of the Jungle”
Is completely superficial
And someone else will steal my pride.
I’m actually more like a cricket,
Chirping my senseless “how are yous”
And my answering “I’m goods,”
When I’m really not,
But no one wants to hear the hard answer.
And I realized that I should give up on living my story—
I’ve always been better at writing them anyway.
1 comments
How do you do it? You express feelings so perfectly.
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