Sticks and Stones

Sticks and stones,

May break my bones,

But harsh words – will break my Soul.

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Smitten

Yes, I’ll admit I was smitten,

And that by the love bug I was bitten,

But tales of romance are never written,

For us ugly ogres – who don’t fit in.

Unworldly

In the early stages of my Life’s construction,

I would unwittingly press the button,

Of Self-Destruction.

I did this when I could never find,

The Self-Confidence,

To bring me any peace of mind.

Since this confidence remains elusive,

And its lacking still an obstruction,

I can’t but help remain reclusive,

Until I bring about my Life’s reconstruction.

I could never have foretold,

That by merely feeling unworthy,

Such damage would unfold,

Such damage that’s proving- unworldly.

 

I’m Tired

I’m sick and tired,

Of feeling sick and tired.

Is all this merely a result of how my brain is wired?

Or is this malaise somehow acquired,

Or perhaps a result of some plot, conspired?

I yearn for relief from this state, undesired.

For how much longer must I feel like an entity, expired?

Yearning

I’m in need,

Of a little love,

A little attention.

I could really use,

Some comfort,

Some affection.

But I understand,

That few are attracted,

To those,

With many limitations.

When it comes to love,

The destitute rarely receive,

Any satisfaction.

Scrutiny

As a young boy, I felt a certain sense of nudity,

A sense of self that could be construed, a sort of lunacy.

An expectant state of being judged rather brutally,

A sense of shame that left me void of any dignity.

I felt this way around the people I called my community,

And felt that whenever I appeared, they would leap on the opportunity,

To target my presence and shame my flaws with eager ferocity. 

Now, no longer a boy, I still feel this way with much regularity,

Wondering what could have been, if not for this disparity.

And from this state I desire to wage a zealous mutiny,

Yearning to be free from this state of prolonged captivity.

Will I ever break free from the chains of past hostility?

Will I ever overcome the damage of their spite, their scrutiny?

 

 

 

Taken in

Where do I begin?

Perhaps, I’ll start with the dream that took me in,

And then perhaps I’ll take it on the chin,

That when reality did set in,

My pride did wear thin.

 

Although being infatuated,

Is no reason to be castigated.

I can’t but feel humiliated,

For being so fascinated.

 

I wish I could say,

That I was never sucked in this way;

That my dignity was always on display,

And that I, on the better side of obsession, did stay.

 

My head has always pleaded for common sense,

Although my heart was hypnotized by your presence.

But I can’t keep making a fool of myself, hence –

To stop dreaming, is of utmost importance.

 

Now, I finally hope to start anew,

And to finally resist thinking of you.

Here’s to hopefully, bidding you ‘Adieu’.

― From the admirer, you never knew.