Deah Caldwell Poetry

I’m not sorry if I scare you.

I’m not the shy and quiet type.

I understand if you can’t appreciate

my energetic hype.

I consistently put myself out there,

knowing few can stand the sting.

It’s neither a cross I choose to bear,

nor a sentimental thing.

As oddly as this may sound,

I have no choice, but to be me.

I want to see the good in everyone,

and wish life to be a comedy.

There’s not a single thing I have to hide

that the world doesn’t already know.

I simply have no skeletons,

because there’s no closets for them to go.

Deep down in the belly

of my cavernous core.

I want to be loved immeasurably,

but appreciated even more.

I have this constant, nagging desire

to prove everybody wrong,

who think they know a thing or two

about where exactly I belong.

I’m not some sort of porcelain doll

you can box up or display on a shelf.

Truthfully, if you see me this way,

I’d rather be by myself.

I’m also not a trophy

you somehow deserve or have won.

Why don’t you put your peacocking away,

and spend a little one-on-one?

There’s just so much more to me

than what you physically see.

I understand this might be a part

of your wiring, biologically.

But, please put that shit aside for a sec,

and do a little thinking with your mind.

I can hold my own in a convo of many subjects.

I’m the thoughtful and introspective kind.

And last, but not least,

but certainly not less,

I didn’t come out of the womb with a broomstick,

because I disagree with your thought process.