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by writerming

by writerming

Note: this is a terza rima poem.

I am tired from everything in here;
in this world wherein society rates.
Wishing to stop this life that's death is near.

         Admitting that I'm not like them—who's not straight.
         Felt strange since I was young, that's something's not right.
         Yet I still became me, accepting my fate.

         Had many fears, like being bullied and heights,
         clueless, not knowing when and what happened—
         but I was innocent and I got my rights.

         The bullying worsen, now harder to mend—
         helpless and in need, I met these new peeps.
         Whom helped in this journey and fought till the end.

Now, with those who stayed even in the sun
raising our flag, all together, we are one.