:c
D:
(Source: retires)
Who Are You? By Shaquan Bell (Bad Habytz)
Who are you?
You are not my father.
Yet you sit in the seat that he used to.
You kiss my mother just like he did.
Who are you?
You are not my mother.
You are an empty soul that occupies the body that my mother used to.
You all disgust me.
The way that you carry on like there’s nothing wrong.
How could you be so gullible as to believe that something as insignificant as love could make all your troubles go away? Love, that useless emotion that evades me so.
I’ve never felt it yet I’ve seen it I know what its clutches are capable of doing to weak spirited people such as you two.
Yet I long for the inexplicable bliss that has dodged my heart for so long.
The so-called happiness that seems so out of place in this black and white world.
Who are you?
You poor defenseless child.
And why is your reflection in the mirror so sad?
Where is the spark that your eyes used to have?
The light in your smile.
Oh, your smile. Where has it gone?
You are not me Yet you look like me and mimic my every movement.
I ask again but you cannot answer, this question poses too much of a threat.
A question that I myself cannot answer.. I look into my eyes; The reflection of my soul and ask:
Who are You?
Knock, Knock.
I sit on the porch but dare not knock on the door.
I know there will be no answer.Not for me. Not for anyone like me.
Strong enough for the mind to change but too weak for the body to follow.
A sinner. Me. I am a sinner.
Seeking salvation. Yet waist deep in rebellion.
Flesh against soul.
An endless battle with no visible point. A pointless battle with no visible end.
Disgusting.
I sit and wait. Alone. Out of options.
I write.
Creating with hands once used to destroy.
A trial I must go through. Alone.
As I always have. Or may have not.
I cannot remember.
It is a blur.
The task is not as difficult as I thought.
It feels familiar.
Almost desirable.
I continue to Write.
Painting pictures with words.
Words that dance across the paper.
In no time I have something beautiful.
Something amazing.
Something that I must share.
But cannot share.
For I am alone.
I stand.
I turn.
I approach the door.
Yet dare not knock.
I am not worthy.
I am a sinner.
I am disgusting.
I am a rebel.
I am a creator.
I am a destroyer.
I am a writer.
And above all.
I am alone.
With something to share.
I wonder what lies beyond the door of salvation.
I cry. Yet all the while I remain silent.
As always. Suddenly. A sound.
A faint sound.
Beautiful.Wondrous.Curious.
I listen closely.
A sound that has blessed my ears for the first time.
Knock. Knock.
