I've lied in so many beds that my body has forgotten how it feels to lie at home
That is why I end up naming someone's arms my home.
You say my body is not a temple,does not have a religion then why does it need to be religiously offered to others.
If my mind is my personality and the words I curate are its wisdom then why does it never matter in the end?
When I say like me for my mind ,they like me for their lust and I trade it to them only to receive some corbels of fallen trust.
Is that the freedom I was supposed to take in the name of being free?
My dilapidated heart ,ever since it discovered its freedom has been roving over unknown doors to find bandages
But did I ever wonder why it never stopped bleeding in the first place?
All it feels is emptiness and heartbreak
And you say it is fine to let it feel ?
And how many bodies like mine feel broken yet goes on breaking others in the name of love.
Are we for real ,this generation of star crossed daters
Whose necks are choked with remorse but shout about commitments.
Have you ever wondered at the irony of giving yourself to others in greatness of sharing
Talking about the purpose of self ,
While we never were taught about self- love?
Our encounters why do they carry more pain and ironies
Ending up in friendships at the instance of discovering other's similar misery.
Why do I never find it strange that my treads feel lighter while leaving someone before I get left ? Did escape not become more important than returning.
Is this not an emotional theft?
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And returning to what ,my vulnerabilities !
Won't you use them as a tool if you had the talent ?
Yet ,all things I do
I do it for my muse
To tell you that me and my rhymes are not apart
Because I trade myself for Art
Story