I wonder why is it difficult,
To read my simple poem.
My words and my feelings,
My thoughts and my dreams.
Don't I deserve to be read,
Don't I deserve your one moment,
Don't I deserve a glance,
Don't I deserve a place in your eyes.
I pour my emotions out,
Nobody pours my emotions in.
The haunting feeling haunts often,
Not one,shared by my kin.
My friends don't understand me,
They think I am simply crazy.
Midst all the praise of people,
I still feel the air ever so hazy.
I wonder why is it difficult,
To appreciate what I write.
My anger and my sorrow,
My loneliness in the burrough.
Maybe I was born to be this,
Maybe I was born to write.
A pencil sketch is way better,
My poetry is just so helter-skelter.

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