Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 20
Once there was a lass
Planted into a mysterious world
Does not know where to go, how to go
Three lights later, she was found
But it is not the kind of found she desires
Is there even a reason of existence
You want her to question about her sanity
Question about impossibility
Question what is underneath
Question what is on the other side
Do you think to look smart
Or do you think because you want to be mentally deranged
Does being a product mean,
To look unique, to look you know a lot more than anyone
Because insane is the new gain
Insane is the pain
Insanity is my oxygen
Does this look art to you
Just simply spilling her emotions and rants
But in reality she done nothing
So how come you label her as a product?
Everyday, questioned herself if she is even of worth
No matter where angles of skies she looked at , no answers burst
If she was born to be secluded
Does that mean she is out of this world
If she thinks differently
Does she have to change the world?
Should she be drowned in the pills of schizophrenia
To define what real art is?
To defy reality?
Is this enough
If not, then what am I
If not a product, then what
I disgrace sycophants and know-it-alls alike
Except for lucid and heavy dreamers for life
Are we bore to create a fantasy
Or altogether fall with this society
Does living in nomothethic oceans is a mistake
Talk about limitless yet senseful imagery
Chatter away with debates that activate logic which I do not have
What is more likely to balance
When there is a whole solar system to laugh at you
No, I should see more light
But what light shall I find
I do not know what is the real definition of every little thing
But I worry and think of them
They say it is the beauty
What beauty
Underneath or above
Which one did you admire first?
Do I have to question my faith
Do I have to question everything around me
Should I speak like Shakespeare
Should I speak colorful in my own languageΒ Β than the language that became my mother's tongue
Should I write like an endless dictionary and a multi-faced human
Should I count every star accurately until the fall wither me
Or produce sounds alive like the city of owls
Should I make every human being smile when I cannot smile myself
Should I feel nothing but sadness for eternity
To pity me when I weave with words
Should I play like Arima
Should I paint like a museum artist
Just to call me a talent
Should I perfect my skills of every labor
Should success appear to me like magic
Should I explain the unexplainable
Or should I damage my cerebrum
Before I truly feel intelligent
Should I dance my life away like the Black Swan
Should I be tearing down politicians and teachers
Just to feel worthy
Just to be recognized in the light I desire
Or should I just look in the mirror
To check if my blood veins are still flowing
Real blood, not just veins of vain
Inhaling all the smoke of envy
I sin
I am flawful
I breathe in gold
Just to realize it is old
Just to realize my self-redeement is stone cold
Will you love and be deserved by light like that
Will you realize everyone who reads this has been **** as well
Will you realize I am not writing about myself
But what we are all afraid to admit the most
Because you are only a person
And once there was an abnormal lass
Penne
Written by
Penne
1.1k
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems