Self-Image

You can be called many a thing by those around you.

“Smart”, “Talented”, “Attractive”, and the such.
But what does it matter when you do not agree?

What does it matter when, no matter how “bright” you are,
You yourself do not see the brightness emanate from you,
And instead you see black muck seep from your pores?

In my head I see all of this brightness in every person.
From the faintest flame to the brightest sunrise.
Yet in myself I see the dark shadows of failure.

I know I have done good things in this world.
But how is one to remember this when their house
Is nothing but filled with the deeds of their “equals”?

The few reminders of my deeds are stashed away.
Shown for a week and then pushed behind new awards
Until I am the only one who remembers what happened.

I have things in my life that bring me pure joy.
But my superiors say they are fine until I need “a real job”.
What makes a job real or fake when it warms the soul?

I care not about the pay of the job, as long as I can live.
Those around me want to be successful with money
When I want to be successful with happiness.

How dare I have these desires and foolish notions
That I can be happy doing something that does not pay!
I keep my dreams to myself to prevent disappointment.

Some in this world know of my dreams and desires.
Few agree that it is something worth pursuing.
Most tell me to focus on something I can show with paper.

Proving myself with a sheet of paper is difficult.
I do not do well in missions that complete this “quest”
And thus more people yell at me to do better.


I work myself until I pass out from exhaustion.
I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, I hardly breath.
Yet it is never good enough for those around me.

I have been taught that if it is not good for them,
It is not good for me, and thus a poison.
Essentially, I am producing my own poison.

In this society you do not speak your feelings.
I bottle mine up, and despite the bottle being huge.
It is always overflowing with pain and self hatred.

The self hate causes me to add more feelings to the bottle.
Knowing there isn’t enough room but praying it will just go down.
Until the bottle shatters and I’m left on the floor in agony.

I collect the thin shards of glass and let the hate spill.
I let it stain my clothing, my skin, my mind,
Until I feel like I am a poisoned soul.

No one sees this, and that is for the better.
They have their own bottles to fill up,
And thus do not need my poison with theirs.

Even now, as I write this poem, I fill with dread.
For I know that someone will read this and weep,
And I wish to not cause sadness in this world.

“I want to get a job in making people happy
While also being happy myself”, Oh how foolish
Those words sound when I know they are fairy tale.

I sit here drinking my death alone,
Shaking and trembling as the darkness seeps
Feeling my hate consume my core.

I do not attempt to find brightness in my soul,
For the muck will consume it slowly in hunger
And the screams of it’s death will fill my head.

I ask again desperately to any who will listen:
What good does it do to hear you are “bright”
When the voices inside tell you to drink to forget?

Author's Note

I wrote this as a request from a friend who asked me to write a poem about how I view myself. This is not a pity poem, just how I see myself. I thought it was good, and thus wanted to share.

Also, I know this is Grimdark Rose from Homestuck. And no, I don't own this picture. The picture was done by FallenDeath13, her profile is http://fallendeath13.deviantart.com/