The numbers were driving him insane. George Orwell, His family didn't know yet. Mark Twain, A childhood on the rivers. A pseudonym is a weapon like no other.
"Do you ever wonder where these voices came from?"
“Yes, I am them. They were the identities formed within my insecurities. A life I wished that I was once in; the shoes of someone I wanted to be… And to that, I have made you exist, but not living…" I closed my eyes and for a moment, I thought I was talking to someone else…
There is an object lying on my desk
Something so simple yet so picturesque Whose value tends to be forgotten With a purpose wasted over and over again With the help of tools, it's radiance flows With a bit of aid, it will surely glow Often, the results are better than we know But if left untouched, it would be hollow An empty space, a blank canvas Utilized properly, it would surely surpass All the expectations and the doubts Grab it now and let your identity sprout May it be an artwork or literary A musical score or a piece of origami A sheet of paper, no matter how small Can make a difference for us all Something so thin and so plain Offers numerous experiences we can attain Take advantage of the entire blank space Let us put our imaginations in replace
I randomly wrote this while staring at a blank bond paper on my desk ^-^
I was supposed to make a report for some school subject but I ended up realizing the importance of paper and how it's somewhat related to individuals searching for identities...
They were children tasting sugar
For the first time Without all the artificial layers The raw sweetness Making them gasp and shiver Anticipating for more Turning them into wild animals Ravaging its meal Showing their true identities Buried in these colors
— The End —