a poem for your thoughts.

I sit. I pray. I laugh. I cry.

I twiddle my thumbs, as time goes by.

The sun awakes as I drift off to sleep,

No sooner do I rise to the sound of a birds cheep.

I am unheard, unloved, broken

yet to be loved and heard are my hearts token.

The call of the world gets me out of bed,

I try so hard not to look at what I have shed.

For my thoughts and feelings are not what I do,

Yes, I sometimes misinterpret them, too.

* This is a little poem I just made up - the meaning behind it is ... although this girl seems to be quite depressed and sad, she has misinterpreted her feelings, thus bringing the poem back to neutral - as in, no sadness just misinterpretation. -- Im laughing at myself because I am analysing my own poem haha. - ok so maybe I should have left this open to interpretation, but I must admit I was afraid that people (whoever reads this.. if anyone) will think I am the depressed person. My point is sometimes people can misinterpret their own thoughts and feelings and create a world of destruction for themselves, thus leading themselves into a depressive state... This poem (I hope) can show that *