All my life is a set of numbers
Every thing I can do or say or think
Can all be explained by Pi
My life has been defined by age
A number willing me too old to buy children's books
And declaring me too young for anything considered fun
My grades have also taken a toll on me
The fact that if less than what you want
My image seems to disappear
But they can always go higher
Life chooses to count my waistline
Never mind the number of people I've made smile
Never mind the babies I've made laugh
Never mind the number of sunsets I've seen
Never mind the amount of people that look at me with love in their eyes
Because life is all a lottery
But I'm playing the wrong numbers
YOU ARE READING
My Kitchen Sink
PoetryAre you searching for purpose? Then write something, yeah it might be worthless. -Twenty One Pilots This is my worthless writings, for a kitchen sink to you is not a kitchen sink to me. Stay street.