he didn’t peel my orange,
I let tears shed down my face,
I’m not supposed to be sad,
after all, it’s just an orange.
a sweet and sour fruit,
the color of a prison jumpsuit,
I think I need a parachute,
to rescue me into absolute.
I don’t notice anything else,
just the fact that he refused,
but I stop to think and realise,
that maybe I need to be defused.
all these problems climbing up,
rushing in from the slope,
when a sweet turns to sour,
and something snaps inside.
Why am I filled with smoke,
Why do I feel this way,
Why am I so dependent,
It’s just an orange anyway.
so I start slowly,
taking the skin off,
piece by piece it falls,
and it reveals something sweet.
suddenly I understand.
To peel someones orange,
means I have to peel mine first.
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 1:26 AM UTC
A burning flame with flare,
and most of the time too bright
for me to sit and stare,
even if I use all my might.
They say I glow,
but I can't help notice the dull
so instead I look low,
always empty, never full.
But every so I yearn to see,
someone who loves me for me.
Even when it's dark and hard to find,
if anyone would be ever so kind
to look up when I look low,
when I'm half empty, and half full.
Everyone loves the brightest stars,
and stares when I'm near one, fun.
but everytime I go far,
it's like I'm a forgotten son, sun.
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 10:58 AM UTC