People see what they want to see, <br />but they don’t live inside of me. <br />They don’t know the hurts and the lies <br />that cloud the oceans of my eyes. <br /> <br />So young; and I was overgrown, <br />layered in skirts of soil and stone. <br />My slender mind was tightly bound, <br />left lifeless on the battle ground. <br /> <br />I would that I could wash away <br />the stains and scars of yesterday; <br />but life is sad and bittersweet <br />whose dust clings to my weary feet. <br /> <br />I’ve survived the hatred and spite <br />whose hands gave way to blackened night <br />whose hurts were high and joys were low <br />who lays in death six feet below. <br /> <br />Yet, I am haunted, haunted still, <br />oppressed beyond my want or will; <br />and yet, I strive, I strive to be <br />what people want and people see. <br /> <br />Till life has died and death has come <br />in bouquets of chrysanthemum <br />will I move onward, onward be <br />what people want and people see.<br /><br />Linda Marie Van Tassell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-people-want-and-people-see/
