Damaging but still creating
My mind is filled with untold stories, nightmares and fantasy,
All waiting impatiently, being written down, being told to reality.
Terrifying stories linger on a bleeding edge,
While I sit in my class, massaging my hand.
I endure the need to show my potential, to rise above,
But I hate happy-endings-stories with vacant love.
I feel the need to put the world’s blame, the people’s hate,
Into a lyrical creation with more than just pointes or morals,
Rather depicting it a way none has done in his vigorous fate.
Deceptively, while thinking I show a stoic face to the world,
So that they won’t await my unexpected arrival,
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Shaking them deep into their core, leaving them hurled.
“Sooner or later, you’ll damage it permanently” they say,
Interrupting any trains of thoughts of conquering the literal world,
My face draws its curtains, dissipating any form of decay,
And soon my eyes join my red cheeks and my childlike smile.
They questioned me with “What are you smiling about?”,
Showing their unrehearsed behaviour in their purest speech,
Proving me that my intention of taking the world’s throne,
is not too far away for me to reach.
I look at them, as I still softly massage my hand,
Keeping my memorable thought locked away,
My glistening eyes’ still present, while they don’t understand,
“Nothing, just a funny memory” I say any other day.
