I am an Assimilated Effort,
Of Twenty Bloody Years, Of-
Sweat & Blood,
Smiles & Toil.
And So is my Persona.
I Am Not Picture Perfect-
Far From It Rather.
My Nature, Nothing Close To Noble,
My Blood, Far From The Dynastic Blue.
But That’s Alright,
Because I’m Not Trying-
To Compete with You.
Maybe I Hardly Have a Social Standing.
If I Count my Friends, I Reckon-
It’ll Barely Amount to Two.
My Marks Mar My Life,
Like Tragedies In Plath Poetics.
My Thirst of Companionship,
Beats that of Adam’s Ale, Sometimes;
As My Anxiety Numbs My Judgements,
With Over Thought Instances of Fabricated Truth,
And Well,
That’s Alright too.
I’m Sure the Lover After Me,
Has Helped You Achieve-
The Contours Of Pleasure,
I Never Could, Or The Friend,
I Was Replaced With,
Leaves You Shook, In Peels of Laughter,
In The Same Humour, That I once,
Misunderstood.
And That’s Alright,
For Change is Always for the Good.
I am Happy for You.
Yet, Before I Depart,
There is Something I’d Like to Do.
Something, Which Bugs Me,
Far More Often, Than I’d Like It To.
It’s that Frustrating Realisation,
Of Never Being Able to Live Upto You.
And For It I’d Like To Offer My Explanation.
You See, I Tried.
Tried To Live Up To-
That Flawless Fantasy,
You Picked Straight Out Of a Hollywood Rom-Com,
But You Can Only Chisel Me So Far,
Before I Am Another Fatal Mistake,
None Can Undo;
And Like Every Other Piece of Trash,
I’m Discarded Too.
Well, Do I Look Like An Expendable To You?
But If It Is So,
I’m Afraid, That’s Not Alright.
For, Maybe,
I have Let You Bend-
Me, Like One of Your Rubber Toys,
You Don’t Play With Anymore.
Once Your Favourite Thing,
It Lies Untouched, For Far Too Long Now.
And I Know You’d Outgrow me Too,
Like That; Like Your Rhyme-
That Used To Be Your Jam.
Heard, You Only Listen to Pop Now,
So Here’s a Few Lines Off JB’s Song for You:
‘Cause life’s not easy, I’m not made out of steel;
Don’t forget that I’m human, don’t forget that I’m real.’
And I hope It Sticks the Same Way,
All Your Favourite Tracks Do.
I Hope You Remember,
That my Kindness was for Love
And Not A Perpetual Virtue. For-
I’m Human Too.
I am No Expendable,
Easily Fitting In, Into-
One of Your Social Moulds,
Casted of High School Romantics. I Wonder-
If You Really Did Love Me For Me?
Am I Even in Trend Anymore,
Or Do You Call Me A Bore?
Was I Another Failed Loser,
You Thought You Could Change?
Is My Dressing Sense Too Drab?
Are My Insecurities Too Feminist-ically Misplaced?
Do The Reasons For My Fears,
Sound Too Fake?
And The Questions Go On…….
Like a Symphony Sans an Ending,
Till I Question,
If My Entire Existence Was Wrong?
Can I Put a Bullet To My Head,
Like Another Eminem Song?
That We Stan On,
Only This Time-
It’s Real.
But No.
The Worth Of My Existence,
Is Not Simply To Fit Into A Socially Normed Box.
I am No Expendable,
And I Refuse To Believe So.
So Go Right On, My Love.
Tell The World,
Of My Obnoxious Fears,
My Skewed Insecurities,
And Faux Trauma.
But Leave Out My Reasons,
Just To Make Sure,
The Mockery Is On Point.
Go Right Ahead, For-
I am not scared of your Social Antics,
And Late Night Gossips, Anymore.
The World Wasn’t Around When I Fell,
And The Ones Who Helped Me Up,
Are Far Too Busy With My Dramatics,
To Give a Social Damn To Yours.
You know,
It Takes Only Four,
To Carry The Palled Box,
Down The Last Walk of Life,
As The Curtains Of Existence are Drawn;
Well, I Have Mine Counted,
I Hope You Have Yours.
-Ish.
Libëranté. 