i was always in love with me, as loving oneself should be
a living joy fueling my run, indulging in my own fantasy
i could adorn myself with the golden sun and moon silver
pitter patter drops, intoxicating the senses, dancing in a mad fever
secretly i craved to be an equality, even thought aloud about it
a simultaneous equation you had to solve, a statistically significant hit
i am baffled even today, the start of the whirlwind
who are you, where are you from, the merging of reality and dreams blurred
i love myself still, but now in my love i think of you too
surreptitiously in my consciousness, sanity has gone askew
my moods unleashed, floodgates of my thoughts opened to your gauge
but four full moons later, virtual loneliness leads to blues plague
so as i sit and sulk over a conversation not had this evening, smile downslope
of not being able to enjoy the bald baritone, getting high on your dope, i hope
you see the skewness of my love distribution and its exponential serial correlation
the mean and mode sky high when we're together, median cruising on consolidation
expression to the nines, didn't cupid forewarn
reactions and over reactions, jocund and then some forlorn
i am an idiot sometimes, as you can see
but i am sure you'll cope with it and still love me
A collection of writings that mirror my thoughts and the highly opinionated person that is me.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Budding flower
Go away, cried petulantly, said
But a large bud, I am, so let me be so,
You think I am a small flower, then pray explain
Why after so long, the petals, still refuse to grow colour
I dream of reaching the sky so high
Alright, at the least, of shining aloud
Carving my own niche, is what I want
A bright spot in a corner or in a bright crowd
My aspirations are my own design, I know
Crafting them I ought to, with my own hands
Where should I face to grow more, yet not wither
A flop show at the end of it all, I fear.
Hey! a small flower you are, not the bud you’d like to be
You know your curve to your flower, your type, your face, your direction
Don’t look backward, don’t lean too ahead, steadfast in your expression
Just follow your instinct and your glorious passion.
But a large bud, I am, so let me be so,
You think I am a small flower, then pray explain
Why after so long, the petals, still refuse to grow colour
I dream of reaching the sky so high
Alright, at the least, of shining aloud
Carving my own niche, is what I want
A bright spot in a corner or in a bright crowd
My aspirations are my own design, I know
Crafting them I ought to, with my own hands
Where should I face to grow more, yet not wither
A flop show at the end of it all, I fear.
Hey! a small flower you are, not the bud you’d like to be
You know your curve to your flower, your type, your face, your direction
Don’t look backward, don’t lean too ahead, steadfast in your expression
Just follow your instinct and your glorious passion.
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