Who are you? - outcast

I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in worlds between inked pages.

I wonder about parallel universes, and if they truly exist.

I hearfootsteps in the dead of night, when nobody is home.

I see ghosts drifting past on camera screens and peeking around corners.

I want for people to recognize that they’re too loud, like magpies thrown into a frenzy over shiny trinkets..

I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in worlds between inked pages.

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I pretend to smile, to nod along, while my thoughts are elsewhere.

I feel as if the words on pages will consume me.

I touch fluffy clouds, darkened, in a nighttime sky.

I worry that I will become a physical oxymoron, a living ghost, to walk the world in a state of unreality.

I cry for the younger generations around me who don’t know the pains of growing up.

I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in the worlds between inked pages.

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I understand that the realities painted between covers aren't real.

I say they are.

I dream of blurs, flying, feathered wings held together by wax and hope, a modern Icarus.

I try to be the best I can, even somedays it feels next to impossible.

I hope that one day, a book will open up and swallow me into its words.

I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in the worlds between inked pages.

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