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Monday, April 2, 2012

Small Poema


Others embrace the rain, but not I. It makes me a melancholic. Sunny days taste better against my skin than hard water. Yet why am I so thirsty? It must mean something, or nothing. Or everything. These droplets' suicidal tendencies...

Lately kindest voices cause the deepest hurt. I try to plug in my headphones but they've become superconductors for soft-spoken bigotry, whispering rationality based on their fake change of heart and a smile. Why do the undeserving captivate my emotions? Am I just a broken cheerleader for the underdog? They say you should never trust the ones who damn themselves. But I can't help hoping they'll change their clothes from rags to robes.

I guess we're all a part to the parcel of willful ignorance.

Peace.

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