I feel like a shadow who lost her owner. I'm not too original, but I don't know who I'm copying. Maybe the birds who sing me morning lullabies. Maybe the summer flowers that wilt
and die. Maybe the darkness that is misunderstood. Maybe the treasures buried in mud.
I'm living to live and trying to enjoy it. Yet as the day progresses, I slowly quit. I hate that fairies and monsters are fake whilst murderers and hatred are so prominent, for goodness sake. This is humans, trying to survive. Sickening men cheating on their awfully patient wives.
I realised just now, my motivation is anger and hunger. My originality is the loneliness and hope that linger and linger.
YOU ARE READING
Turquoise Emotions
PoetryI am trying to cope with my chaotic, hectic self. These are my late-night thoughts.
