When the hand reaches twelve,
I will be of age.
I shall wait for the magic to settle,
For some sort of change.
Perhaps,
The blindfold will fall,
And I will strut when walking.
Or,
I will find hope in this path.
Optimism acting as my crutch.
Maybe,
The iron claws will loosen,
And I can escape.
As the hand touches twelve,
I am of age.
I wait for the magic to settle,
But nothing has changed.
I smiled bitterly,
I guess now,
I am truly of age.
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A Peek of a Messed-Up Mind
PoetryA collection of poems I wrote about the things happening in Hong Kong, mainly the protests. Irregular updates. Constructive criticism is allowed. Haters are booted out. Warning: Nsfw for some politically charged content. Be prepared for a shit ton...
