Poem- Harry Potter- Est. 7th year
I am not immortal
I am not a god
Don't think I am.
I was just lucky
Lucky to still be alive
I have feelings too
I hurt
I feel pain
Probably more than most.
A tissuepaper thin veil,
-Like a curtain of mist-
Separates me from Ron,
Me from Hermione,
Me from the rest of the world.
I didn't ask to be different
I never wanted to be seen this way,
As their golden boy;
A saint.
Because I'm not.
I'm nothing special
I'm not a messiah
I can't give the world away,
Or save it from destruction.
I just do what they tell me to.
I've killed so many,
Stretching mmyself thin;
Scarred,
Scared,
And angry.
Angry at them all
For forcing me into this role-
Until one day I won't be able to take it any longer
And I'll break from the pressure.
I could die.
Be murdered cold-blooded by Voldemort.
It's not impossible.
My luck could cease,
Voldemort could win
And they'd look to where I used to be
To save them
Save all of them from death,
But I wouldn't be there.
They don't want me anyways.
Only to use me.
I'm just a weapon they can use against evil
Nobody actually cares
Nobody actually knows what it feels like.
Let me tell you-
You could never know.
It's agony.
Constant bitter suffering.
All the horrific things
And all the pain
All the lives taken
And all the believers,
Believing in me
Me not wanting to let them down
Me scared senseless
Me hating them for depending on me
Me hating Me for letting them
Me writhing in self-loathing
Hating what I've done
Hating what I've been through.
A burden too heavy for one
But no-one offers to help carry it.
They just don't understand
They don't know
They don't know Anything
But they couldn't anyway
Because I don't "feel" like everyone else?
Because they don't care enough.
Nobody does.