13:12pm January 20th, 2017 these stereotypes, am already sad of my consideration- disqualification- you don't fit into the character- you choose- you want to be, My starboard side is broken- don't know where am heading- insecure enough to drown myself- How many like for the next selfie- I call out the differences over the border disputes- And am on repeat, a single song- and I dance-off to the weird noises-voices, inside my head- Clap boy to the rhythm- to the self you see in the mirror without a vocal fold to shout- concern- bed time stories that I have never heard are in my dreams, These are my figments of memories these days, The unconventional side wakes in me- like a sick boy- stands firm on his libs- open- Make a call and remain connected- the utter darkness you see, when the windows are open- I can't Handle your sense of entitlement- I'm spacing out, isolating from my life's worth- I ask you for admiration- no criticism- pull me up- stop telling me am fine-
It is meant to be the way it is to be,
deeper it goes, better
cutting yourself with a butter knife, it hurts more,
I don’t want to breath up those things that i got wrong,
I turned on to the wrong pages,
and am stuck in that page itself looking,
somewhere in between the lines,
or the quotes,
or the verses,
that read, “I deserve not be hurt”.
I walked across those thousand pages,
for that line,
but never was it found in the paragraphs,
that never ended, continued with commas,
now I want to write it myself down, on it,
It is meant to be there.
maybe I’ll burn it, or let it go,
release the sickness, be free,
let it be what it is meant to be,
just let be, ride back home and sleep.
The pages are empty. The story is incomplete. I have my own And yet to be written I feel nude And tempted to be with you Or may be Am being optimistic To be able to Enjoy your beauty In the most darkest Sense of fret self. Am unknown to many But you know my Deepest tactions And so are you... For me. Everything would be written again In black and white Without an empty page.