Unloved

• Chris Smith, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2003

I had trained myself to feel nothing, but now and again something strikes me, and shudders my living comfort. I fall, but softly, and unhurt. My eyes straight, I continue, leaving my failure behind. On I go, and on I have lived, finding love to be very unkind.
I walk through my existence, regret and longing hung around my neck. My body, this vessel given from my un-knowledge, feels and sees and hears and tastes and smells just like the world's children. But somehow I feel different, unusual, in my endless trek. Still, however, I live like the world's children. Without. Desperate. Struggling. And unloved.