Threads woven together by our ancestry;
Stories of golden youths and infinite smiles;
Forming tapestries of yesteryear’s memories,
Seeking solace behind brown sugared irises.
The ancient oak tree that withstands tempest,
Crimson-gold leaves grasping at the sky.
Emblazoned roots of intertwined slander,
Seeking the ecstasy of glided gluttony.
Tripping over trepidation for validation,
The peculiar offbeat of being forlorn,
A sense of greater freedom; to be free,
In the eyes of judgemental mediocrity.
When I see my loved ones together,
And realise that I do not at feel,
So rather than ruminate the consequences,
I’d rather desecrate the purity of my innocence.
I’m forgotten; left to wither.
And it hurts.