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I am never
the comedian,
But I am
the joke.
When I was growing-up, I was different, in a way i speak, walk or talk. Yet physically i was just a normal boy growing up knowing nothing on how the society works. I was confident to what i like and don't like, then been bullied  or humilated by doing it, because it was not the norms for a typical boy. Then I became fed up with it, that in my teenages years i learned to be alone and be alone, trying to fix something that didn't need fixing. Life goes on in my teenage year, still being bullied until in my collage years that i learned which to ignore and to which to defend. In result to all this i became a loner, choosing wisely when to socialize when needed to or else i rather be alone. That is why also i never care finding someone anymore, i find comfort in my own space.  Being Old alone is not such a bad thing anymore, we all go there in some point in time.

To conclude my personal journey, I guess being bullied physically or emotionally has/have a long time effect. It will scar you, but it will never defined you, you'll get strong as you understand the viewpoint in perspective, life gets better when you know how to live a good life.
that girl with blue eyes
ice-cold rays of rising flames
how gentle they seemed

those darkened clouds cried
and im a fool
for thinking the tears were real
dead in the night
all alone
dead inside

eyes wide open
glued to the ceiling
gone all mental healing

all the overthinking
praying for redemption
followed by slow blinking
for shame, i'm left with feelings of abnegation.
Attracted to the broken
Like myself
I yearn to be fixed
To make amends
To feel once again
To wake up to my favorite person at my side
It’s not in the cards for me
And it wasn’t for you
So broken
No matter the repairs
I’ll never feel like new
Find me in a thrift store
Along with the other gems
Marked down due to being used
Do the flowers mourn when one is picked?
I know that question is kinda morbid and sick.
But I’ve always wondered if they somehow know,
Like for weddings and birthdays that it’s their time to go?

Do they feel sorry for lovestruck dames,
That pull off petals whilst saying their crushes’ names,
That pulled the last petal on “He loves me not”?
Do they feel bad that she’s distraught?

Do they compete on who’s the prettiest?
Each person has an opinion of which flower is the best,
Of their looks are they actually aware,
Do flowers even care?
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