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So, people's lives are messed up. People suffering, manic, depressed and what have you. People have no food, no money, no hope. People want to give up on life. People looking for ways to escape. Art does not seem to be enough these days. Can't even lift a hand to draw or to read even anything, like, maybe I don't know, like the Bible? Motivational books? Or watch motivational stuff, like? People be me, myself, others (whose names I shall not mention) and I. Yeah, the three of us and others. Yeesh, meh, I say.
The three ol' dead dudes
For the last two weeks, I've taken a walk with three dead, old guys. Weird, I know. Even so, amazing,like. So these three guys, they said and did stuff. I've heard about them before, but probably thought, "I could care less" or something really narrow-minded, i don't know. Then, it was March 21, aka independence day in my country and I just so happened to find out what an inspiration the first two guys were to the leaders of my country. These three old dudes
Let me get to my point already. Yeesh these three dead men hey
With like 3 books about Martin Luther King, jr., 1 book on Malcom X in my back-pack, and Mozart's Lacrimosa on repeat, i
My Poem: Memoirs of one unloved
I hear them refer to me as “it” or “the fetus”
Some underdeveloped miniature human, with no established status
For I am trapped in some fluid, apparently I know nothing
But, as strange as it may seem, I do suspect something
I cannot tell my senses apart or at all open my eyes
But I can detect outside of me a piling up of blatant lies
Disturbingly chaotic and deafening sounds I clearly hear
But they seem so far from one, yet closer to the other ear
How is it that I am able to point out what I feel?
Why do I get a foretaste of the world, when I’m a captive still?
Yes, you’d better believe your ears,
© 2015 - 2024 Jess77712
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