The sad truth?

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I’m trying to fill the gap of my insecurities with the words of others
And I want to believe them but society shows I can’t
Be anything other than my imperfections
Belly fat, ugly, alone
Incompetent
Because I don’t know what I want to do with life
College, graduate, in-crowd
Smoke and drink and party
Till the world goes round’
I will always be my imperfections
And until I die my soul
Will always be tortured with selfishness and gaping holes
I fill the emptiness with the words from others
Because if they at least say I’m beautiful
It gives me the tiniest of hope
Sometimes that’s all anybody needs

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Poem Entry

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For my school’s literary magazine, Scroll, I’ve written a poem about…things. I’m not really sure where I wanted it to go, but I think once I finished, it turned out nicely. Enjoy and read it 🙂 Any feedback? Tell me as sincerely and as you mean it. No need to sugar coat any of it, add some cuss words if you feel like it too. 

 

With a beauty surpassed common knowledge

Not much can be seen without the chemicals

Our scientific senses that transmit everything

Everything said to control us- to the brain

Where that single organ defines who we are

But the heart- forever beating to the rhythm

Of our life faintly beating to an organ, by an organ

It is where we are, we declare, left to feel

A bodily excuse for the brain to cast all consequences

Of it controlling how we think, what we do, even then it is

Broadcasting, transmitting what we must do to function

To all within and those barricaded by ourselves externally

Even then, our hearts still ache through a lifetime of eternal pain

Or happiness, or love, or excitement, or frustration, or abandonment

What intrigues us by dormant instincts, which has yet to be defined truly

It is not the brain or our hearts individually recognized- but both of them

Connected and so systematically intertwined

The functions of both which we label down in books

Carrying the weight of just another scientific definition with a scientific purpose

We are not to be looked or thought of as just as

“The Human Anatomy”

Our capability to feel beyond the intercom of the brain

And its’ consequences pushed onto the heart- we endure a lifetime

Think not of it as a life maze to be studied and diagnosed

Our hearts, our brains, our actions, our choices

Think not if it as to be solved, but experienced

We are left to be described and understood as

Noumenon

Misu ❤

Not even

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I don’t even like rap
More like trap
And they laugh
Cuz it’s just beats
But they wouldn’t know
They’re FOBs
Thinking they can dominate
Music industry but they know..
Be an SOB and they’ll achieve
A status like mine
So shut the fuck up
And listen to me shine