On Your Own

She was a girl so full of stranger,

She was the girl, put alone.

Rarely did friends ever give her a home.

 

Raised by normality, of her parents birthing group,

Breaking their blood to follow her own type.

Her morality, sense and feeling born and burning her own.

 

Meat taste is a loathing indifference.

Her family tested their palates with meats,

Her sickening. Produced by one minute living-to-dead flesh,

 

She’s full of confusion,

Shut her mouth up though and let them sicken themselves.

And she was one of those, who secretly in brain crossed them.

 

They knew her indifferences,

Her lack of poison-beer-y taste

And for that reason she was alone respected,

 

No smoke, no substance, no vice.

But she was a snob,

She was a snob of her parents invention.

 

Brought up in a quiet place with smallness,

Socialising, or surrounded is better

By well spoken, non-trash-city folk children.

 

No choice of her own, but embellished by her mind.

She loved it, it taught her to be better.

She loves nothing more than her own ideas, kept quiet.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

A splendid read and write. Thank you for penning...:)