Who Am I?

[SawyerSauce]

I write a poem.

My fingers glide from s to p, they dance along the keys.
My brain ignites, I start to feel it.
These words I type are me.

I cannot plan it; I just write.
The rhymes, they come so swift.
Vowels and sounds, I have not found for time in such a rift.

I cry, I feel. I know it's real but who's to say it's not?
Chemistry would quite agree that emotions are just thought.

You think you feel but it's true you don't.
Serotonin and Dopamine.
They control your soul, these small, sweet rolls in oceans flooded green.

Wave on wave, a temptress is dressing.
The moon is waning in wax.

Don't you see, that this is me?
I thought you saw my cracks.

Apparently not, oh I forgot, I'm nothing but an ass.
A daughter I am? Did I tend from the damned?
You act as if I'm evil.

But nonetheless, I'm still a guest of the robbers Good and Bad.
A plus sign here, a slash cut there, how could you not see my stress?

So I'm writing a poem.
One in a few times, I feel I might express.
I'm sorry I can't. I just really can't.
My life is such a mess.

[NeuroTiger]

It's a nice poem from the use of words and structure.
I'm sad that you feel this way though.
Be strong! You can face life!

[sqishy]

With knowing what problems lay before us, we have a much better chance of clearing the challenges. You have that. By thinking you can't express yourself to others, you are already expressing it very well.