the house stands at its place,
unwithered by seasons of a winding faith,
as strong as bricks made of soil hard burnt,
but its me who lives inside, and my inside is rust.
its light and sometimes dark,
it changes all of a sudden, all without a glitch,
but unlike things we can control,
I wish I had a switch.
I have a curve up on my face,
they say it sets things straight,
but what about the pain inside,
which never walks out my fate.
out of mercy, out of compliance,
be a way we have never known,
I explore it riding on wind,
the wind that has left me blown.
I'm taller, I'm bigger,
I can hold the sky above,
but what about the low inside,
that knows nothing but being hurt.
