I used to believe I was a storyteller.
Once upon a time, there stood
a mad little meek child, under
grey clouds and a raincoat hood.
I used to believe I was a poet.
With an incohesive rhyme scheme
in my back pocket, words 'ink' and 'me' and
'love' and 'dream' in every verse to show it.
I wrote a letter to you today. I talked of the clouded sun on your face and how you're one call away but I truly believe you're farther than you seem I hate it when I'm rambling It's why I don't read what I write Did I
Did I tell you what I wanted to? ah. back to-
the story, yes- of the steady paced waters of June
years later, falling onto
my black chappals - shoes -
they don't dirty my feet like my
favourite pink & blue disney slip - ons
but, I believed I was a rebel
Since the first time I peed in bed
the story - of every June smelling different
as another secret travels
to the end of my nostrils
from where it goes upwards
to right between my eyebrows
it comes out as the fourth pimple
on my temple. I burst it and cry
Hence, I believe June is rotten
I'll try believing in July.
BGM: September Rain - BigRicePiano