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Sep 2016
I always hear this word,
But they use it blindly,
As they project themselves downward,
In aspiral of chaos and confusion,
Leaving nothing but a meaningful weight,
That sends them to the feet of their hosts,
Like parasites that only know how to feed,
Sadly it is not in their capacity to realize,
That no harm and disgust is reflected onto their spirit,
But they continue to rot their own soul,
Excreting an immaterial gas,
Filled with toxins and emotions,
Feelings that make the insides of your stomach tumble,
Up and down then around the bounds,
Boundaries that they could never cross,
Because they are too young, maybe,
Too ignorant, slightly, remorsefully,
Going to schools and institutions,
Just to forget to ask, yourself that is,
And blissfully believing the facts that are handed down, like a vitamin pill,
A placebo that makes you smarter as it seems,
Beneath the soft exterior of a false personality,
Not fake, but inadequately you,
Not enough to be the own individual,
Living a lie handing down whatever the time dictates,
Never asking, why, because it is easy,
It is easy to fall away,
It is easy to hand out words,
That indefinitely hold meaning,
It is just a game of chance and luck,
In a head that refuses to ask,
It is so easy to make labels,
To project the self onto another who does not know,
To another that is seemingly ignorant,
But who is well aware,
But maybe decides to not give a care,
Never ceasing to wonder, why?
They are thousands of four letter words in the hundreds of languages,
And yet they choose to represent themselves in a word that they avert their ego.
Good ears, not eavesdropping, just loud whispers, and a paranoid mindset, given unending patterns, and stale overused personas
Sam Ishmael Nocum Cruz
Written by
Sam Ishmael Nocum Cruz  Philippines
(Philippines)   
288
 
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