Today, I share one of those fun poems that reads almost like a story. I’ve mentioned how poetry was my way of figuring out the world. These writings I share every Wednesday helped me understand who I was. One of the best things about this piece is how it shows poetry did not really help me understand the world as much as people. The more I wrote, the more I wondered about my peers. As I watched them, I started to understand we were all hopelessly lost together.
This poem did not have a date on it, but given its placement, I believe it was written in March of 2015, a month shy of my 15th birthday.
I See Broken Souls
You don’t understand me.
Never have; never will.
You don’t see what’s inside me.
You don’t see to see what’s real.
I will live.
I will achieve.
I will be remembered.
far after I leave.
So you don’t have to worry.
I won’t be another broken soul.
Who killed herself in her despair,
No, I am just another broken soul
Walking blindly across this Earth.
Or is it you?
Is it you that can’t see.
Is it you who can’t hear.
Maybe you’re just another broken soul.
Following the remains of your lost dreams.
Just don’t take it out on me.
Your disappointment has her own dreams.
I can’t hear them.
Above your screams.
You don’t even have to speak.
I just look in your eye.
Anger, Spite, Fear, Regret.
That’s all I see.
You are everything and nothing to me.
I can’t wait to let go.
I can’t wait until I’m.
This poem takes an unexpected turn. Even as the writer, I was a little surprised to see this poem admit that her desire to rise above those who stand against her may be the same goal everyone else has. This isn’t a poem about how much is sucks to be bullied or about how depression twists into anger. These words admit the truth so feel are willing to see: everyone, even the worst of the bullies, feels depression and anger. Even they have their bullies, be they in school or at home.
It’s selfish and arrogant to assume your suffering will make you better, that karma will grant you something more just because of the hand dealt you. I think that attitude might be what creates bullies out of the bullied. We have this attitude that, once we gain the power, we will do to others what they did to us.
This poem says I will not be a broken soul who fails. I longed to be one who succeeded. I’ve always had a lot of big dreams, such as traveling the world and writing books. When you’re 5, adults smile and tell you that you can be anything you want. As you make your way through high school, that attitude changes. All of a sudden you’re told what you can’t or shouldn’t do because of various reasons. The people who achieve those big dreams are the ones who can overcome those voices.
I think we can all remember talking to adults who gave us a sort of “that’s what you think now” speech, as if getting older would prove to us our dreams were too lofty. These are the lost dreams I speak of here. People have dreams and plans, but life doesn’t always go the way we want it to. Those screams are emotional, not literal They characterize one who has not achieved dreams and feels they lost their chance to ever change that.
To this day, I strive to avoid that fate. As I see it, life is about the journey. That means I have to try. I have to put in a good effort to achieving my dreams. Now, I might never publish a book, but if I at least try, I’ll die happy. To me, giving up without ever trying is the worst thing to do and results in the greatest regret.
As a child, did you notice your bullies may have suffered just as you? Did adults suddenly change their tune in high school, urging you away from some dreams? Is there a level of risk that makes it worthwhile to give up on a dream?