I DIDN’T ASK TO BE BORN
Don’t perceive an impression that’s wrong.
I’m only pretending to be strong.
And even if you thought so then know that I’m not.
You’ll see that side of me and also what I brought,
it’s the outcome of the drought.
Scavenged leftover scraps of a cinnamon roll,
and my beat up soul
are all I carry in my satchel when I embark on my endless stroll.
Numb myself away with toxic introspection,
because nothing else quenches masochistic self abusive thirst,
more than reflective battery’s immersive sensation.
Don’t panic when you see that side of me,
I’m only calm and composed until I give in to your charms.
And then I’ll shatter to pieces in your arms.
For a fragile spirit I am, embodying an arbitrary city of existence.
So far it has been a war-torn bubble ravaged by weathers of stormy seasons.
The planes subjugated to the delicacy of the lil beater inside my chest.
And when I meet you the real me emerges,
I cannot hide much longer behind this masquerade of false resurgence.
It is but me, myself and I.
Holding out my arm, inviting a stranger who would like to fly.
Through my turbulence and into the storm’s eye.
