Nickeda

Nickeda
2016-03-25 05:40:20 (UTC)

A poor girl's cry

I thirst for anything that sweats
I no longer feel comfortable waiting on the feel of muddy water,
to quench my thirst or for my throat to feel wet
people complain of having so little,
what they possess would be heaven to me, a slice of bread or crumbs will do, a cup to hold
cause the walk I walk peels my ankles
dust in my nose, sand for clothes, sleeping in the cold.
I wonder if a poor girl's story will ever be heard and....

told ...."Correctly"

Twisting my story to fit your emotions, don't cry for me!!!
I was planted in the Desert, still I keep drowning in my own mold
I only asked for a hand, couldn't be heard,
even If I was, I will forever be ignored
scorned and scorched by anything that tastes light.

Shelter is mine under the shadows of the wicked, those that have it all predicted...
where do I see myself?
My lips shares the identity of the silent desert, eyes sucked in, knees knocked by the wind.
My English may be out of place, so must be the hearts and minds of Humans everyday.
Tasteless am I, hopeless I stand, the wind fills my empty soul, little faith pumps blood up and down my heart
waiting for the day the creator shows his face in the sun, to blind myself as I take my last Breath and say "I Should have listened"
the stars were only there teaching me how to pray!
Living in such wicked world, I guess I had the easiest way!!




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