We are not dead yet(poetry): Plot twist and other magic tricks

22

When commenced, arguments don't withdraw themselves. So, when I fought with my dad about transferring. I was called as an overdramatic seventeen your old girl

Mad as a hatter marching down in the humps, teary-eyed. I used to prepare perfectly like porcelain dolls displayed in antique stores, well-polished, neat, and tidy before getting sold

I wasn't sold, I bought myself.

When dispute comes as storms does to winters, in first day of tedious class period, my wrinkled uniform doesn't matter, I don't mind my red stained cheeks, didn't addressed the irritation over my shaking limbs

Forget about value, quality, I could afford my mental breakdown another set of re-lapsed. I stride boldly with orange tears, and the joke was me entering a zoo of animal epithets, enjoying the midst of my shame

And I don't feel sorry for myself because happy hormones in their systems were released

I don't anticipate the empathized glance of the rest per se. Instead, in the middle of the test, I spoken a eulogy of my consternation, asked my teacher to spare me a time to bury my dear old best friend cowardice as he died by my hands.

I took a set of reality shovel and planted practicality on top of it which was living underground for my 21 year of existences.

I prayed like the nun, I prayed as if the sick people were in my prayers, I prayed, and something grow. Something did.