deepundergroundpoetry.com

Me and Myselves

I feel as if there are several people inhabiting this body.
At least one is competent and brave.
Others are quaking cowards.
The child that I was is still here too, and getting stronger, sad and a bit angry at the way her parents have abandoned her.

Life did not have to be this way! says the child, her childish expectation that things ought to be fair rings through my head and squeezes tears from my eyes.

But life isnít fair and things could be worse says the pragmatist.

 But look at all those people standing up for themselves cries the child. They get so indignant about much smaller wrongs than have been done to me!

But look at all those people putting up with much worse says the pragmatist. No one is dropping bombs on us, we have enough to eat and have access to electricity and water.

BUT I AM LONELY SHOUTS THE CHILD. I want someone to care about me. I want someone to believe in me.

But child, those stories are not real where people love and truly care for one another. They only care about appearances. They want other people to think they are good because they each know that they are not, says the pessimist. The world is a horrible place, beauty only put there to tempt us into thinking that things can change so that when we fall we fall further.

Nooooooooooo shouts the child. I matter!

 No says the pragmatist. You do not! I do not. We do not.

The philosopher pipes up Nothing matters. None of it is real. It is all a dream woven between the particles in the void between then and now and eternity. Go and play with your soft animals and stop making yourselves miserable. There is no point . There never was a point. There never will be a point.
Written by bookrabbit (Lu)
Published
Author's Note
I wrote this last year and am resurrecting it for a competition because my inner child likes competitions
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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