I feel so stupid until I can’t find any appropriate title
Born in a place where the losers came in
I always feel like everybody is watching me
Is it so clear? The losers stamp on my forehead?
even if you read this you’ll find my mistakes
Gosh, I hope I’m not my mommy’s real daughter
She’s so perfect, perfect just doesn’t suit me
I feel so awkward I could sink my self in the mud of embracement
What is it did I write?
Could you understand me?
No! You couldn’t
Even if you could, I still feel like no one could
What is it with me so I hate my self like this?
Is my self is really a mess…
Or I just see it from a microscope?
I see myself in the turning up side down camera.
And see one of the mistakes that God ever create.
I know I’m not that bad.
Better than this stupid poem I write
But oftenly I put my self I a tornado
That I made myself…
Am I mess or what?