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Not In Straight Line

*pic courtesy - painting taken from pinterest. I am telling you I am not perfect My bed is messed up all day long I have been said I am nothing but wrong My voice cracks open a tragic song My closet has clothes that don't fit me There are times when even my dog doesn't sit with me I am telling you Life is not supposed to be.. What you want to see.. I have been thrown out, shouted at, made fun of,  everytime I want to change and be free.. I have been called arrogant, stupid, mad, with ideas that shatter... I discovered things that no one in the room thought but only if it could matter.. I am telling you That people aren't perfect and nor they will ever be... If you wait for them to align You will be the one being struck out of line Don't think every criticism is fine Some are horrific with absurd design So what if I am not perfect I can tell that imperfection is abstract Breaking the rules is not nodding to solicitations I have tried, failed, then tried back ...

Empty Corridors

Footsteps getting louder…
Screeching on wet floors..
While I run…
To hide ….
Giggle echoed..
As I barge into..
The empty corridors.
They come after you…
And will not go home without you…
Without telling what happened..
Without yelling abusive apprehensions.
Giving away their absolute intentions…
As they seldom walk stepping onto your toes..
Laughing as you gather around those empty corridors..
Elevator opens…
Sipping bitter coffee ..
Being yelled at in the parking lot..
Gobbled up the snort.
As bitter it can get…
And yet..
Standing alone …
Eyes trying to blend into the empty corridors.
A smile…
A grin..
Taking back their faces..
That did just reach my chin.
While choices run thin..
I grab a corner …
Showing my honor towards empathy forsaken.
Eyes looking away…
Trouble heading my way..
Strange as it gets bleak.
As I start stumbling over those empty corridors.
A picture..
Of varied stature..
That isn’t going to break..
Stares at me wide awake…
The friends that chased me…
Standing beside me..
While I giggle again..
Calling my name ..
A distant voice getting louder ..
Rooted into these empty corridors.
Are the reflections that never pretends..
Or gets older.

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