I want to forget the days
Where the rainy clouds harassed me.
And everywhere I go I feel like
The literal definition of shit.
I can never be society's projectile image of
Perfect.
I'm in the selected group of
The labeled and the hopeless.
You'll stand as the naive hero,
and I'll love like a troubled poignant villain.
And like the flickering city lights
In the dark, slowly submerging past
The rain from a crappy weathered day, I'm not that far from other lights.
I remember in 7th grade, a guy
Who liked me told me to never leave
The house without make up because I
Was ugly. I still never do because of him.
The creativity of a kid's is limited.
I see this little girl playing with toys eager
To grow up, but she can't read yet.
She ignores me when she paints her pasta
And I tell her to never grow up. She can't
Read and she's already waiting for Prince Charming.
YOU ARE READING
Noyadé
PoesíaA series of small works: finished works and unfinished scraps and sober thoughts and inebriated words and drunk minds and me. All of me in here.
