• in Everywhere •

In every turn, I’m condemned,

From the memory lane up till the volcanic crater,

I believe, such condemnation ends down the throat until it reaches the magna reservoir.

I wanted to remain low, but his well-concealed pride forced me high,

Till I about to fly, he left me dilapidated, naked and dejected.

“About, is never good enough” he said, and “ability is never quite enough”, he thought.

The others actively cheered in a highly condescending manner.

My feet are charred, my mind is running wild,

Every second I face a juncture, And everywhere I go is a war zone.

None can keep up, not the pace, not the pain, not the way that you used to play.

The cradle is my reality, the world outside can’t even compete,

You’re born not in my reality, you don’t know the standard sanctity of my reality.

“Impurity” is what reality will tell you, and that’s true,

So long as the volcano breathes fire without my bones,

I’m diluted, being perceived so, and unless I survive the pressurised heat, my achievements mean nothing.

In reality, I’m merely an unsold and uninviting figure dangling by the entrance,

To the passerby, I’m unique yet not worthy of any appreciation as down the streets, there’re better ones, and this I know, I realise and I understand, and quotes have spoken out loud.

That’s why I didn’t flicker when you return,

Because my reality see less of me,

More of you,

And you should too.

— PurplePen