No one stares at owe on you
than bitter barkers on the street,
frowning at your majestic authenticity
those who mock the way your mind speaks.
Spitting cold hearted words in public,
but adores you behind closed doors
watching intensely your every move,
mixing with envy on their idea of you
losing hold of their reality,
while shading more of your blues.
The world indeed is so cruel,
every hate is so contagious
I clasped my book of delusions,
and drown myself in my creative tools
mimicked the words of the fools,
sketch them into something they approve.
Little do they know, I am their mirror
they ought to love me,
as a sparkling jewel
when shape into something,
that they drool
then hated wholeheartedly,
once I broke their rules.
I do not ought to be reactive,
yet I love my wittiest schemes
every pain they have caused on me,
is a power added to my hidden fury
too lazy to take vengeance,
but with every mockery is a grit in me
in every poem written in thy novels,
were only just the beginning of it.
YOU ARE READING
her say
Poetryjust poems, a self-made poems by me and dedicated to no one , ( enjoy the irony).
