The poet that is Me

Here is a story
About a losing teen
Didnt really get noticed
But his record was clean

And even though
He tried
to grab
their dying eyes

He's not fine

He is not popular
Nobody understands
The talent that surges
through his shaking hands

He desperately
Tries to grab
Their blank
unamused eyes

He's not fine

If they only paid attention

He writes
For feeling
and out of spite
but slowly he is bleeding

They don't see
all that he can be
But slowly he is bleeding

Oh, how he wishes
They could see him today
How he is trying
On this very day

No one tries to talk
Because he walks
The other way
He's not fine

If they only were less fitting

They don't see
all that he can be
But slowly he is bleeding

He writes
For feeling
but also out of spite
and slowly he is bleeding

He puts his pencil down
ANd the paper
falls to the ground
He is done

He told his story
and now he will wait
for someone other than him
to go and choose his fate

He only wants to be seen
But he wont again
He is done....