My Insides Out

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

On the surface,
a stoic ripple;
underneath,
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”.

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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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