Writer-In-Process

A fail of a life like yours needs a bowl, to fill the tears of the others you've caused to fall. Carry this on your shoulders for many more years. Karma does exactly as how your soul appears.

Cows moo and lions roar, who's to say I love you more? You'd scream high if I kicked you there. I can't believe you don't even care. For now let her have her fun with you, because you have not yet heard what I can do.

There's a longing deep in my heart to be different. I want to be admired. I want to be known. I scorn the followers, the people who will believe anything. I want to be the one they turn to. I can't help but feel better than certain people. And I hate myself for it. I am arrogant. I am a hypocrite. I am no different that anyone else.

A poem like this is hard to write. Poems have emotion, express feeling. But if you feel numb, the poem is numb. It's hard to be successful when you feel numb. But there are much worse things that could aspire. I feel numb.

Maybe those words you use to describe me are not wrong at all. Maybe these wings you gave to guide me are causing me to fall. But if you walked my journey, or strolled my path it would leave you breathless, and no where at. If you knew the things I felt. If you knew the things I see. Would you really be judging me? Because life is full of questions, and none of them are wrong. Because the life you gave me is a mystery, and who else is to blame? But you don't know. And you never will. So what's the point of hate if there is no space for it to fill?