Ilani
To my readers,
Never think highly of me.
Do not think me strong or gentle,
For I speak praise of gentleness or humility all the time.
Do not think me being kind.
Day light has been toils,
This scorching sun has erased my memory of time.
The cold fights at night with my damning thoughts,
My bed, a spread sheet of dead roses and thorns.
Some mornings, covered in mundane of sadness.
Don't think me kind,
Overreacted to pressure and disappointments,
Been silent when they needed me to talk.
Distanced myself when they needed my help,
Said harsh things to those I love.
Embraced compromise and ignored faithfulness.
Been in the sea, battling with monsters.
Don't think me strong,
Under this flesh, is a grisly heart,
flows with fountain of lies sometimes,
My legs are fast than the sight of my eyes.
Thinks highly of myself sometimes,
Independent, able, clever than them.
Prone to wonder from an obvious path,
Crooked I am.
To my readers,
Never think highly of me.
Do not think me strong or gentle,
For I speak praise of gentleness or humility all the time,
Do not think me being kind.
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