Some found poetry in my pain,
Others wept along.

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Yes, I do have a problem with the way, things are.
No, not everybody likes to be around everyone.
Not everybody's definition of a good time, includes people, booze and loud music.
No, we don't have to explain ourselves.
No, we don't get to be judged.
Yes, we would like to be understood, but we aren't looking for your approval.
Yes, it is unfair.
Yes, you can live your life to the fullest all by yourself, if you choose to believe it.
No, there's no shame in being different and enjoying different things.

-How would you know where my happiness lies?

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I don’t know how people make art so determined and predestined. As if it was there all along waiting for its instrument. It seems they paraded their soul to be a channel for the art to flow through them like rivulets emerging from all directions only to submerge into one massive pool of unanimity.

-

But what if I get it all,
What's there,
Once you have lived the high?

-

So what, that I sit by myself in a crowded room,
And hum to folk songs against the backdrop of blazing pop.

What if no two people ever perceive the same thing.
What if we don't ever see the same things.

Are we but nothing more than ill fitting pieces of a puzzle
Coalescing somehow around the boundaries.

-

You accepted a religion
But did you find your god?

-

Quest for the other half.

-

I have been aiming to string poetries.
Howbeit,
All that has taken shape is
Fragmented verses.

-

My soul is punctured.
The wings are a show.

You kill my spirit
And call it culture.

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Dare not fall in love with yourself
As a woman,
It stings them to see you whole.

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