This world was so mundane,
  forever lost within my own narcissistic dreary storm.
    "Hey are you listening"
        blue seas,
             blue skies,
                eyes. . .that make me feel insignificant
            

black,
faltered thoughts,
gone.

Now all I see is eyes, covered in masks.
A horrid reminder of a man,
    who made me fee insignificant
        a horrid reminder
          of the failure I have become
             clinging to three words. . . "I love you"

People are beautiful. . .
    
    Cities burn,
       I was five and he was forty-three.
     Bang!
       What an awful sound. . .

People are beautiful. . .

Piano Keys & Harps,
     Gluttonous Pigs.
Crash!
     Children starve!


People are ugly,
  - truth.

Smell of cheap coffee,
  an unwanted reminder
            of unassigned roles. . .

        Why did the leaf fall before the tree?
            Why did the moon howl at the wolf?
                Why did the bird swim far below?


Can you imagine a world?
     with no roles. . .
            no unspoken rules. . .
                  
                            - Choices

Sit alone,
  in the darkness of my own anguish
   the question lingers " 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝒻 "
        Life was not cruel . . .
        Your eyes never closed. . .
         Never ceasing to exist. . .

"𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝒻"
    we lived until we were old. . .
        we loved until we tired. . .
            - and you were not ashamed of who I've become. . .

The clock strikes,
  & here I sit
     alone.

Yet I tell myself,
    I am happy,
        regretfully happy,
            to live another day. . .
                                  ironic. . .
I'd give the world to be with you. . .
       & yet I am happy to be away for another day. . .

Minutes turn to hours,
  time is listless,
     the meeting is dreary,
        she wags her finger as if scolding a child,
           scorned, humiliated, ashamed. . . .
            " you are not qualified to challenge the system"

Ivory towers,
   fools in regalia,
         they think themselves kings,
              deciding what is good academic art.


For years I cried,
     For years I tried,
          Mocked,
              irrelevant,
                shadow. . I became. . .

I saw the best minds of my generation,
  and I was not one, creativity had come and gone,  
       the flame of thought extinguished for I was told "You can't"
            so many times. . . my heart started to beat to its metronomic rhythm!

I can!
"You Can't"
I want to write
"You are not good enough"
Why cant we create creative pieces?
"Academic research is all that matters"
Why
"Who would you be?"
. . .

I am me,
I like to write,
  About flowers, indigenous ****, and a love that can never be.
       & that makes me 𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽.
          So let my peers reach the accolades,
             let my peers be published,
                    let my peers fit your definition of "great"

But I am me,
I am happy,
isn't that what matters?

𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓷 𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓭
        his phone rings
           " on my way home"
                   what a joke , a man in my bed . . . left

Alone Goodbye's. . .  
    The irony. . .

Pillow muffled ｓｃｒｅａｍｓ,
   "mama it bleeds"
        slap to the face
               blasphemous lies
                    - liar

ｈａｎｄｓ trespass every crevice,
      "he touches me"
             every word lost
                  you are crazed
                   - crazy

beep. . . beep. . . beep. . .
     withered hair
        wrinkled arms,
            eyes that cried,
                gasps and screams
                    - gone

𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚢
   𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓈
                                                      
                                             ʙʟᴀꜱᴘʜᴇᴍᴏᴜꜱ ʟɪᴇꜱ