Pour moi.

Life didn’t start on a happy note,

It started with excruciating pain.

We started sad; crying or still

Happiness isn’t a right, it’s a privilege that we should always appreciate.

No point waiting- though they say good things comes to those who wait.

Lies.

Good things happen when they want to.

Pour moi.

 

Pain isn’t pain;

Till you’re curled up and shaking.

Crying isn’t crying;

Till you’re eyes are swollen and you’re so sure you’d go blind.

Loss is that heart clenching feeling in your chest suffocating you,

Just enough for you to squirm but not die.

Desperation is when something is so close, so needed yet missed by one wrong move.

Emptiness is that feeling you get where you don’t feel anchored to the ground anymore;

Floating emotions you refuse to grasp.

Sadness is the most comforting.

An inspirit that surrounds you in a calming coldness.

Love.

Love doesn’t exist.

Pour moi.

 

Yet the strange thing about everything is,

How they want everyone to be different yet stay the same.

It makes no sense that the more different you are they shun you;

Call you strange; call you queer.

For every difference you have they desperately try to chisel you back.

Back to their norm.

It makes no sense- no sense at all.

Pour moi.

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