Insecurity
Lurking "smile-for-me" bullies
Mudslinging repose

Sometimes I wonder whether will-power is all
that I need in my life in order to feel whole.

If I learn to never follow my instincts
and rather rely on my rational thinking,
will I feel better, will I feel whole
when I scrape off joviality from the edges of my soul?

Won't I feel bitter, won't I feel low
that I have not smiled sincerely since ages ago?

Is everyone capable of experiencing love
or is this what is said by the Man from above?

Aren't we all delusional enough
to blame God and religion that our lives are so tough?

Are we blind for the realization
that all of us are a creation,
perfectly fallible and right, but often wrong,
yet much like a rhythmic sensation in a song?

Why are we rude and envious of others
when we all should behave just like we're brothers?

Everyone is suffering under the rain
perpetually waiting for the arrival of a plane;
a plane that could carry them to another dimension
but we all know that's just an absurd pretension.

Life does fly by and it's a well-known fact,
yet few can even maintain an eye contact
with that beautiful woman or that handsome man,
standing at the corner of the room with no plan.

Life does fly by and it's a well-know fact,
yet it's just an idea, so abstract
as not to even make an impression,
leaving us deal with our own depression.

Life does fly by, yet that woman can't leave
the man she has married, the man that would deceive.
She's lying to herself that it's all for the better,
swaying down the tree's branch just like a feather.

So, don’t be so anxious, so scared and insincere;
Life is indeed too short for that, dear...

I said I'd write a poem for you,
Once I got to know you,
And now, I think that I do.

It took some time for your colours to shine,
But now I'm done, so here,
Let me show you.

You are light as the day,
With no hint of dark,
It's all bunnies, princesses and pink.

You bore me to tears,
Like a bar with no beers,
And you certainly can't handle your drink.

You're the arms-length kind,
A mediocre mind,
Fakeness and lies are your craft.

You flutter your eyes,
Like a sneaky tweety-pie,
And all the boys start acting daft.

It can't all be bad,
That would be sad,
Of course, there are nice things to say.

I just don't know what they are,
Not those things in your bra,
I've seen bigger **** in ballets.

You have a nice ****,
a nine, if I'm asked,
But that means that I'd have to say...

If I'm being true,
The best thing about you
Is the sight of you walking away.