The soul of the naïve maliciously burns in beautiful orange flames.
But why is being vividly alive to the point of creating art always compared to fire whears feeling dull is compared to ice?
Which naïve person came up with these frames?
Feeling nothing can become another naïve 's paradise.

...The naïve always miscounter the unwise,
they believe their beautiful lies,
let them burn them up with excited gleaming eyes.
Oh, don't I miss being naïve! How naïve indeed!
This whole poem might sound cliche and even worse: absurd. But Oh believe me: This is the mere truth!

I miss summer. I miss running in the hot summer days only worrying about my ice cream melting too fast.
Ironically enough, I've hated the couple last.
I miss the irresponsible summers, just being a kid. Being "uneducated".
I miss not being judged, overlooked, and underestimated.

In no time at all I became an adult.
In no time at all I became the most dull person I know, what a result!
Questioning my existence suddenly is a religious insult.
If I was doomed to let go of my naïve dreams, then how can I exult?

I read somewhere that life is just like a movie.
Funny. My life so far has been similar to the ads before a film.
Can I wait any longer to live truly?
I'm getting older, but this movie refuses to start...The ads are becoming dim.

I'm scared. My flame is burning out. Slowly but surely I'm losing sight of my trait.
Isn't 17 so early to feel so old? So suffocated by fate?
Wait...wait...wait.
Wait till you get older, I tell myself. Wait 5 more years, get a job, and travel. Travel? Travel and your soul will become remote.
How naive?!
How can the way this world works be any worse misperceived?!

Ignoring that, I say: Just concentrate on working on yourself.
Just work out more, learn more, add more books to your bookshelf...
For in 5 years you will be out there all alone. Struggling to figure out what you want to do with your life.
What do I want? I don't want to be alone. I just want to be free, a hero. Someone who stops strife.

Stops strife? What a laugh.

I think I should just wait forever.
As time puts my pieces all together.

Slowly and a little awkwardly.

I miss summer. I miss running in the hot summer days only worrying about my ice cream melting too fast.
Nevertheless, ever since I entered the adult world I've hated the couple last.
I miss the irresponsible summers, just being a kid. Being "uneducated".
I miss not being judged, overlooked, and underestimated.

In no time at all I became an adult.
In no time at all I became the most dull person I know. What a result!
Questioning my existence suddenly is a religious insult.
If I was doomed to let go of my naïve dreams, then how can I exult?

I’m writing this for me as much as I’m writing it for you.

Honey, this poem might be a hit or just loads of *******.

They say it’s best to have loved and lost, than never loved at all. But is that true?
With that said, do you remember your now dead bestie? Of course you do.
Do you remember when you came to school all blue?
Remember when I thought you would make me say adieu?
Thinking it was time for goodbye.
Oh boy didn’t you make me cry.

You keep saying that I don’t get it.
you are so stubborn that of convincing you of the opposite I quit.

Don’t ask me to explain.
All I know is that with every experience you gain, with every pain you go through you seem to drain.
All I know is that people think that your  cries of help are a brat’s way to complain.

You say that you are not special.
And with your own depression you wrestle .
Yet you believe that you are the only one going through this existential crisis.

I don’t want to sound superficial or artificial the thing is everyone is special, thus being special is the ordinary, the initial, the unofficial official.
It’s just a matter of who will find their potential before they become celestial.

....

I am a 16RAM program of a telegram whose programmer programmed to deprogram all pogrom to the last gram by the use of an epigram.

In simpler terms, I am a poet.

But like any other love story, our love did not last.
While earth took us in her arms in the past,
whilst earth lovingly caressed humans otherwise.
In the present, it has harassed us as if we were Pennywise.
The touch of life used to give me butterflies.
But for now, all I hear is earth's cries.

The earth has loved us so purely,
although earth is 22 500 times older than man she has welcomed him so demurely.
And yet, man polluted destructed and poisoned. Oh isn't man such a disgrace?
How can he look earth in the face?