My eyes do not see like yours do.
Don't believe me?
Look outside.
Tell me what you see.
You'd probably reply with kids smiling,
Or families spending time together.
You might even go as far as saying you see a beautiful crystal blue sky with delicate white clouds.
Now me,
I'd say different.
I see kind homeless people and depressed kids.
Instead of that blue sky I see inauspicious clouds of smoke and gas.
Your eyes overlook the chaos.
But mine?
Mine see it clearly.
My eyes are not clouded by society.
My eyes see the truth.
-L.N.L
YOU ARE READING
Rigor Samsa
Poetry"n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time-and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated...
