You wear kindness like a mask—
mine was carved into me.
I was labelled with whatever you want to think of me.
Name me as you please,
call me as you want me to be,
even when I am not.
You let me wear it like a cloak of shame,
like I was being stripped naked,
like I was labelled to be a thief,
a liar,
a user.
Well, like I said,
call me as you wanted me to be.
Even then, you were never contented and satisfied.
You turned me into a monster, a beast—
you saw me as a devil.
Honey, we are alike in other ways,
perhaps? sort of.
But my attitude with yours is different.
I may be your wonderful creation,
but you never own my soul.
-
Author:
the breaktime monologue (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 17th, 2026 08:04
- Category: Sad
- Views: 1

Offline)
Comments1
A cry of being independent of the world. A poem of acknowledgement of what is but also the separation of outside control and internal existence. Lovely
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.