Poetry Collection

The Mission I

I remember a time, when I never looked in the mirror,
when I thought to myself I have two knives if I break the scissor.
I remember I saw everyone yelling and playing with glee,
when I hid and prayed that's all of them I was ever going to see.
I remember that time when I wasn't allowed to cycle the cycling path,
when my mother had a hole in her hand and I didn't dare taking a bath.

A time when I looked at my family and felt good to sacrifice myself,
when I layed all of my childish flaws on display, carrying this huge shelf.
A time when anyone could rise up to my frail little pedestal,
even if they mocked me or hurt me, I was never very rational.
A time when I didn't allow myself to speak, to smile, to cry,
allowed the thought that they said these things
because they wanted me to die.

There was a time when nobody talked about equality,
but only who was good enough to be in each others' vicinity.
At that time the other kids had better faces, better laughs,
that made them good people, and punished me against the calves.
At which time I deserved to be punished, they creatively delivered to me,
it makes people happy to single out the red apple and form an army.

Back then I did struggle to take out the dog and be honest with others,
As strange kids came and asked me if I knew Renée, I replied with covers.
At that time I nodded, talked a lot but never spoke, never stood straight,
at a time when grandma cared about my good stance and didn't differentiate.
'Cause if I pose for a family picture with blue calves I must not be right,
outraged was my mom, only until she did so herself and held me tight.

Back then my grandpa told me that his parents had been very kind,
I thought my grandpa must've been so good, and yet I only whined.
Back in the day I was known vastly across town as a raging pink bacteria,
wearing a pink coat too made me a bad person, scaring people, causing hysteria.
I was too loud, talked too much, I was stupid if I asked questions,
and I felt like this was all accumulating into an infamous invention.

When people were talking angrily, I hurried over and apologized,
then they got even angrier and told me I don't know what I emphasized.
In spite of having good family and good examples,
I was on my way to become world's worst person in scrambles.
The restrictions I put on myself didn't work; every day I was worse of a person,
so I did some mathematics that I learned in school and closed the curtain.

It was only logical that I punished and restricted myself exceedingly,
because my grandma told me we should be treated accordingly.
By hurting everyone so bad I thought I shouldn't have the same rights,
it was better indeed if I didn't, for a defect road neither has any lights.
The only thing giving me piece, was relieving everyone's burden,
I had one plan; the kitchen knife, and I felt cowardly when it went uncertain.

I stood there, pondering why bad people always won in life,
clausing myself as the bastard who was avoiding trial while holding the knife.
Back then I told myself something that was discreet, encompassing and pure,
To always be my best possible self and to atone to all, to be anyone's slave for sure.
I looked up to my grandparents, in every tiny situation what they'd say,
and live by their example. Too bad no one can see now that was the real slay.