Your Suggestions Aren'T Welcome
This is me.
This is me.
Not caring so much about caring,
but still caring.
Because to be labeled sane you'll have to care.
And still I'm falling short of prerequisites placed upon me by your judgemental faces, my life choices are like Facebook filled with unwanted comments.
Hanging, out the window like my own dirty socks.
Made to feel short even though I'm tall.
In that imposed suggestion box.
Your assumptions like sticky notes attached to my skin, clawing at my flesh with that he said she said pastes.
And I faced this too many times, this pointless tune repeated playlist.
I showed you my own naked skin,
and you made up the rest.
You exaggerated rumours caused this tumor in my head, like a poison your words spread haunting every choice I'd make.
Criticizing my thoughts, movements and actions pretending like your own glorious transactions are legit.
Sprouting your own bad seeds.
Greed.
Envy.
And post traumatic everything and I mean literally everything because everything has it's own string.
Not always is it no strings.
Not always does it adhere to sin.
The world is grey.
No one's perfect.
That mindset alone will make things certain.
For you.
For me.
For us.
No judgement passed shall downplay my self worth so I could fit in your facade that you call your,
"Class."
Or maybe just another message placed, in that imposed suggestion box.
17/08/17?
Copyright © Chisala Kataya | Year Posted 2017
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