It will all be yours it’s in the grasp of your hand.
It’s at the flick of your wrist.
Everything will be alright.
This moment too shall pass.
You’ll be happy
And they, jealous.
We all have that assuring, wise and god knows delusional side of ours that’s helping us search for the life in us
That’s keeping us believing in what was shown on the TV
In rags to riches.
The imaginary conversation
Even when all is dark
There’s that one measly part of us
That still b e l i e v e s
That still has an appetite to bear the morbid flavours in this world just to have a taste of its finest ones
But mine hasn’t been as exhausted as it is right now
I’ve lost at the feet of acceptance, of content
But content I’m not quite content with
Satisfaction has stepped on my feet
And its asking me to run
What if I don’t find my what if
If it all remains
And i succumb to the normal
the you’re-no-different lifestyle.
If the clock keeps ticking
and its not from a renowned designer from the streets of France
Have you ever wondered ?
And quite frankly
I can’t imagine the swelling in my eyes
Or the numb in my mind
It sends shivers shimmying down my back
Like little ballet dancers
to think that life wouldn’t be as its supposed to
That my Christmas mornings won’t be spent in New York
With snow on the ledge of my house
And a Fendi coat guarding my lean build against the nefarious winds of the East coast.
Call me superficial
Even sadistic or materialistic
But I don’t just want to be happy
I want to be happy in a certain way
There’s a criteria
Maybe there shouldn’t be
But its been bugging me that
What happens if it isn’t fulfilled
And I’m stuck with a life that maybe makes me happy
But is not what I desire.
What if you don’t get your what if
But you get content. Comfort.
Would you trade?
This poem is not relatable. I don’t think its supposed to be too. Long time, no talk.
Carpe diem. Merci
too much french
have a nice one.
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