My Insides Out

For all to see,
I’m plainly there.
Not quite normal,
but no one cares.

On the surface,
a stoic ripple;
emotional cripple.

In black recess,
abyssal deep,
no light of day,
in dark I weep.

My voice is weak,
while hurt is strong.
There are no marks,
just feeling, wrong.

I’ll never ask
for what I need.
This loneliness
makes my heart bleed.

If you should look
you’ll never tell,
but insides out,
would look like hell.

You don’t know
who I might be,
unless you spend
some time with me.

Take that chance
and be a friend.
If you don’t,
how will it end?


This poem was written for a prompt for at Writer’s Digest. I started thinking of “my insides” for the prompt, and jokingly went to “my insides out”. The poem then turned into a much more serious affair, reminding me of those I know who perhaps didn’t have someone who cared enough to probe beyond that “stoic ripple”.


About ewdupler

Gene is an avid outdoorsman, loves reading and is known to put pen to paper (well, he types) as an amateur poet.
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