I imagine hatred even before it exists.
I can see fingers pointing in my face,
Pressing my forehead and knocking me down.
Like a cactus growing its thorns,
Standing out in all directions,
I have my assumptions expanding and colouring,
All my grey cells either black or white.
So I’d either think or quit, but never act.
Even in the absence of fellow human presence,
There are others acting in my head.
Like those imaginary naughty devils,
Hiding in my wardrobe,
Jeering at my crying habits,
After the lights are out.
I wish I could hold on,
To the intangibles,
That give me a sense of security.
But, I don’t have the power of possession.
I wish I was still that naive teenager,
Who firmly believed that growing up,
Would make her own everything.
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