secretly, I've always hated myself
how I hate conversation so brief
so cold, so lame
so to myself, I would always do the same
Monitor every words, every giggles
would stomp my feet, if the person I am
feels boring in a feat
I hate myself
If I won't bring interesting figure
So even if my mouth feels sore
I wouldn't stop laughing
Magnolia, wishes the world to turn for her
Like me as I remember
A pathetic whore
The difference is
To her, it does
The world did...
turned around for her needs
Single second I realized
The intention of every criticize
of my beauty
of my personality
of becoming a smarty-panty
All of those are like golden treasure, in which would add
weight to this little gal
And maybe, even for a little... other people would feel this heavy,
heavy thing on me
I would have impact... I would make a sound
Reflecting the days, on where my wishes, my wants, beautifully fell on the ground
Never pick up
no one notices
of why I'm so loud
Cause when I look at you
You do not look at me back
When I feel you
You cannot feel me back
so I just assume, a little impact is what I lack
Strangely, it feels like I'm right
cause as I stare at my back, no one is in sight
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
