It had been such a long time since I wrote something dark, I think I don’t remember how to write dark anymore. It’s difficult to take it out from beneath all these layers of forced smiles I’ve put on.
This is how one of my thoughts came out to be, don’t tell me that I am a poet because I write nice. I believe I’m something else, not a poet…no. In fact, I don’t want to be a poet.
I don’t belong in the world of the poets.
All this while,
I was trying to fit in rhyme and form and meter
just in the hope that I might fit in somewhere
No, I’m not all those colors,
that give meaning to the otherwise monotonicity.
I’m not those words that drool across paper,
mating with it to produce a beautiful poem.
I’m not the music,
that syncs with the shrieks within just so you feel normal.
Not a poet, no.
Give me all of your colors,
all your beautiful thoughts
and I’ll make them gray.
I… I’m contagious.
Touch me and you’ll be one of us.
All of your colors, don’t matter. It all looks the same in my twisted little mind.
🙂 (These smileys are the creepiest I swear)