honk honk, the musical rhythm i hear daily from the cars to motorbikes.
then the whooshing of air filling smog, still tender with the hidden blue sky above.
with the rustling chicken coop, to the chiming bells for afternoon prayers.
life was whistling around, buzzing in the vibrant green grocery market,
yet not as loud, as the dull gray fuzzing at home.
there was me, a smooth-faced kid with dinosaurs for friends and drawing cutouts.
probably was once, the youngest kid in the world, to be so obnoxious and loud.
genuine tears would always find their way from my cheek down to my neck.
those tears tasted like honey drenched in salty, sweet, honeycomb.
those tears tasted bitter, anguished in hidden pain, forevermore to overcome.
those toxins, of bees that sting pain, to a future of flashing black and white.
-small thoughts
YOU ARE READING
Facade
Poetrysomething personal i hope others can read and relate, to the many things people don't realize is "there", the truth.
