I squandered my resistance,

for what?

Fleeting pleasures, I suppose.

At the hands of strangers,

seeking acceptance from the ragged people,

Cause the fine ones come with fine prints I can’t see.

The harder I squint the blurrier it gets.

I can feel it, something is off.

I just wanna find peace.

It’s been too foreign to me,

buried below my feet.

But I will dig and sift the oddity

we will be whole again, eventually.

I promise.