Melancholy
Being strong is not so easy.
Outside is loud and boisterous,
but inside is melancholy and silent.
Outside is where birds chirp and leaves sway,
But inside is where feelings are hidden and hatred is stored.
Dreams of existing outside are forgotten,
And life on the inside is safe, and warm.
It's easier to shelter souls on the inside,
So the outside won’t be influential.
But am I doing this to myself?
Is this what I really want?
To be stuck inside where the sunlight is concealed
And where all living things come to die?
Why not go outside and experience the birds and grass?
Everything I’ve heard all about.
The things I can’t bring myself to see.
Maybe one day when I’m stronger,
I’ll slip out into the warm sunlight
And feel the breeze on my skin.
Maybe I’ll walk to the lake and sink my feet into the freshwater.
Watch the fish swim all around my toes.
When I’m stronger I just might.
