truth be told,
I am not that bold.
It is a jab into my eye,
a reality full of lies that my mom blames this distress.
Hold on, I can't tell black from white. Might as well be blind, I can predict even the scenic route that people doubt. My whereabouts are no longer in a crowd, standing with witnesses is unhealthy for me.
I want privacy, isn't being alone key anyways? Who is to care
if I write "Beware" or just  stare. In the end, there is this sentence left to bare. Always interpreting the language I so rarely speak. Energy may flow for others, but I am not a plug one can spark by lousy remarks.

My thoughts mirror every object that hits my attention
******* me into a world
distraught, hurt, and in a frenzy..
When will the good times roll?
When will my hurt come out of what feels like a sunk in hole.
my whole is picked apart
hope is no longer attached.
I just feel under attack.
waiting like a fish
almost breathing under water
I feel sick when I just want to feel stronger..

She is dressed in her pajamas
She breathes nothing but the smell of the tastiest food you will ever taste
She sips coffee three times a day
One in the morning after her breakfast
One at noon before her lunch
And one at six o'clock in the afternoon
Always with cardamom and a hint of sugar
Her hair is always *******
She wears three pairs of socks when it's cold
Her favourite companion during the day is a TV set
And at night,
When her husband and two kids are home
She already smells like food and cardamom.
She takes a hot shower
Wears a clean pajama
Puts on three new pairs of socks
And slips into her bed
While murmuring the lyrics of her favourite Spanish song



- LynnAA