The Art of learning to be human

I'm Still Learning

I don't know where I left my shoes at
Came back home,
drunk,
not tip toe drunk,
more like Sia I'm swinging from the chandelier.
Spotlight on me,
see me glisten,
shine than ever before,
behold my bitch type of drunk.
It's 4am
and all I want to do is drown in this ocean of regret I call my bed and enjoy sleeping on the sea bed I had made.
Didn't care about anything,
more like just stripped my casual costume suit because it was too tight and I needed to breathe.
Inhale all my sins in,
in exchange of all my good deeds.
And now I'm here.
I've been shoving around this closet filled with items but mostly shoes that are not my own.
They do not belong to me.
T-shirts, pants, sweaters.
Pair after pair.
Too ignorant, still in 6 inch stilettos that were meant to anchor me, make me grow a bit more taller, but were met for somebody else.
I forget I loathe anything that attempts to lift me away from my reality.
Been searching that I have grown so ignorant that my love had placed her own shoes safely in her closet and wore mine with pride.
But now here's the thing with wearing shoes that are not your own.
Your identity becomes blurred.
You enter someone else's divine and galaxy.
A whole new perception.
One you can control better than your own.
She had been constantly shaping my life's dreams and realities.
Neglect yourself.
Be a woman.
Don't even know what it means to be a woman.
Woman is supposed to be clean, with no blemishes.
Woman is supposed to be gentle, a fragment of peace.
They don't deserve your truth. Lost in submission.
Submission replaced by gullible obedience.
Woman is naive optimism.
Woman is yes, I agree.
Woman is not a man.
Man being man being himself, not cut down or short faulted for his mistakes and flaws.
Woman is put anyone above you than yourself.
But I'm here, still searching.
While being molded like clay on a turn table.
The sun has set.
This time the chandelier shall fall. Drop to the floor.
And I don't know which end I'll be at. Or whose shoe ill be wearing.
Maybe again forget I hate heels, with smeared red mac lipstick and laid "black girl magic" edges.
But I'm here,searching.
Sadly with no knowledge that my shoes have been found...
By her...
But I'm still searching.