Poetry
What they see is not what I am.
By Mica
What they see is not what I am.
They see my anger,
my hatred,
my rage,
my lack of compassion,
my outward front...
Little do they know,
with their prying eyes.
How I cry at night,
wishing for change.
When the light comes in,
thru the sewer grate.
It hits the murky water,
hits it just right.
The mirror of grease,
the rainbow of oil.
Sends the light off,
into a prizm of color.
Yellow,
Orange,
Red,
Violet,
Blue,
Green...
Green......
That acursed color...
That wonderful color...
That which is my bane and my blessing.
I lose that color in the rainbow.
I lose myself in the spectrum of bueaty.
A shrill scream pulls me back,
reminding me of the city above.
back...
back...
back...
Back to the chaos of my life.
I answer that scream with stark silence,
slipping above to the living streets.
Quickly to my feet the punks drop,
untrained thugs,
lost souls in the hustle of the city.
The rescuee, bearer of the shreik,
flees from the ally
...and from me...
Reminding me again of who I am
WHAT I am....
what I will always be...
What is that?
The query plaugues me...
I am lost.
I am drifting.
I am mutant.
I am not of this world.
I am who I am.
I am Raphael.
A glint of steel,
my friends return to me
I head towards my home,
preparing my front.
What they see is not what I am...
Title: "What they see is not what I am..."
Author: Micansana/Marne Gustaf
Year Written: 2001
Year Posted: 2001
Award Year: 3rd (2001)
Catagory: "Best Peom" - 2nd Place
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