I know what a bird feels like
Being colorful
Full of harmless memories
Watching the meadow from a fairest distance
I know what a bird feels like
Seeing all the possibilities
All the land of beauty
All the ways it can fly
All the fresh air
From a cage
I know what a bird feels like
From a cage

After all the wonders
All the question marks
The confusion
One day
I stopped believing
And it felt sweet
Like the earth was still running
Only it got slower
Like life was telling me
That I’m here for you
And now that you know
We can be happy
Until the end of faith
The end of torture
Crossed by me
I was not good for it
But now
After all the nonsense
I believe
In a one and only
Life
And it feels wonderful

I often feel like I don’t belong
Like I am not supposed to be here
This place
This time
Something is always telling me
You are fated to break these walls
And get confused
In the woodlands
Something is always blaring at me
You should be ******* those wolves
Fighting them
Rebelling them
And scorching all the walls
I do not understand
Sometimes I imagine
Is it worth the fight
What is belonging
What does it indicate
That you find your body somewhere in the ashes
And you feel alright
You feel stillness
And you are not bothered
About ****
****** up sheep
****** up wolves
****** up ****
And mess
Disorder.
Sometimes I think
I love the challenge
The glorious unethical feeling of being ******* up so bad
That you are disable
Those cramps my love
Are the reason why we’re here
Those wounds my baby
Are telling you to make it acuter
To make it dreadful
Until it’s worth it
Until the end of time
I know you love it
So you need to **** it more
Until you realize
Why we’re here
Why you belong
With all the non-forgiving cells
With all the beautiful regrets
I know you love it
But it doesn’t mean ****
You don’t belong here
And neither are your concealed pains
Your ***** hands
Your anxious thoughts
We must decease tonight
So that it counts
So that it’s worth it
You see
My love
Where you belong?

I read once
That you can **** someone
By writing them
So this is my ******
Of him
Of his memory
There were once two people
Very different
Could never agree
We were once under a roof
Two minds
Of the same objects
Never the same
She tried to escape many times
But couldn't
Due to errors
Of plans
So she decided to ****
The man
The father
Even though he thought he loved her
And explained all of his actions
With love
And care
She could never understand
The laws of forceful love
She could never believe
That love could be so criminal
So immoral
So unjust
She
Was never in the same room
Never under the same roof
And could not escape it
Put an end to it
To the love
To the care
Of that man
That father
Who would never understand
Why she was never there
Why he was never there
So this is my ******,
Her ******
Of a loving caring man
A father

i see it now , fire is the answer .
I feel the pain , I fire a cigarette .
I feel betrayed , I burn your pictures .
I feel the sorrow , I fire myself up .
I see it now ,
Loud and clear ,
I see it as I fire my sorrow into some ashes ,
Gray ashes , no colors ,
fire has no color ,
I see it now .

Why?
Are we the generation of sinful doings?
Are we the gaffes of the other “moral people”?
You live in a world where parents assume that you are possessed simply because you’re uncommon.
Because you’re wrong … to them.
How can you ever be yourself in a world where everything else is stupid?
I am possessed they say, I am sneaky, I am a deceiver, I am the devil itself.
But why? Is it so wrong to ask? … Why?
Why is the world so furious at me?
Why is it that every time you follow your heart and beliefs you are called those names?
A devil, a horrible person, one that must be sealed and kept away to defend the minds of those “moral ones”.
I want all the colors in the world, I want faults, and I want sin.
For I am the devil itself, and my worst sin is being this … a woman.
A woman with sins is much worse than a man with sins.
For sin is made only for men, or those who has no one to be judged.
Is it really our sins that we defend? Or is it our yearning for being?
Is it the sin that we judge? Or is it the sinner? Or is it the way we look at them?
Is it even worth calling a sin? Or is it we who give it this gigantic name?
Are we so fated to be sinners and must be rebuked until the day we become pure human beings? For in this world, a sinner and a human are much parted than a pure human’s imaginings can ever reach.