I flipped the switch, lights off.
Out on the street, I see someone ugly,
I turned off, into a dark alleyway
where the lights are off.
I strolled along and felt off. A punch,
a kick, I’m down. People run off
with my things, only to be put off
by red and blue lights.
The attack, I shrugged off.
I made it home, my clothes came off.
In the shower, dirt and blood came off.
My love join me in the showers,
made me go off, then the lights went off.
Again.
It’s definitely my off day.
Lightbulbs light
In my head, excited
By sharing prospect.
Sharing is life,
Is care, is learning.
When you share, less
depressed you become.
Mouth open, words out,
Spoken and written.
Responses received.
Returned words turned
knives, They stab,
they slash, slip on
Blood everywhere.
Dejected. Once.
More output, more content
To share. So many more
to come, excited by
prospect. Then a quick view
Of graphs, charts, tables.
I see the numbers,
They don’t enter puberty.
Changes nobody sees because
Nobody clicks, nobody reads.
What have I done wrong?
Thoughts run wild,
Became knives.
They stab, they slash,
It all hurts. They say
sharing is life, is care,
is learning. Yet exsanguinated
Is all I am.
Dejected. Twice.
Knows self, knows direction,
Wants change. Told others,
People on the throne,
Of change desired. Quick
AcKnowledgement, life goes
On. Time flies with no
recall. No change, things
stayed the same.
Why? Ask self. Did I
Do wrong again? They say
Speaking up is good for
Quality of life. Yet
What’s this? Ignored. No
change.
Dejected. Thrice.
Conclusion simple,
Life is dejection
And about rejection.
Deject life.
I wake to brand new day,
to the sound of calls,
calls by birds so free.
The sun bright white,
the sky baby blue,
the air so fresh,
it makes me happy.
I walk, talk, listen, and see,
absorbing things like a sponge.
A simple sight, a novelty,
inspiration awash.
I create to share an idea,
a thought, to inspire,
to make you happy.
A feeling, a desire, a goal,
I listen and move, because
It’s all about learning.
I’m not an expert,
I’m everywhere and nowhere.
People judge because they are insecure,
but I’m proud of who I am,
for I am unique.
This attempt of creating poem about being a software developer will replace my journal for today.
Comes the night,
out goes finger,
a press of button.
A beep,
turns of blades,
room turned as cool as arctic.
You dropped dead on bed,
wishing it’s fact.
Night’s dead,
killed by the sun.
Wake up son,
Went the alarm.
Up he rises,
off the bed he rolls,
gave the alarm the blows.
Lethargic,
walked out a zombie,
looking for his breakfast,
made it instant fast.
Sat down,
have it slow,
thinking about woe.
Dropped into the hole.
Off to work,
dealing with droves of people,
all of whom squeezers.
Off the train,
to the coffee shop,
out with coffee in hand.
Down by the desk,
faced wall of text,
requiring fingers full of dex,
to churn out more text.
You think you are mack,
Insects,
give you the smack,
now you feel like crap.
Squash squash,
death to them ,
never seem to end.
You try again,
hope to gain,
some confidence but never quite back.
Time disappear,
sun gone for the day,
no yay.
Home you go,
back to the start you go,
again.
A spark beginning of life.
Nine laborious months later,
Eyes opened
Seeing world for first time,
breathed unfiltered air.
The first cry telling the world
he exists.
With years past,
tiny human to big human.
First quadrupedal then bipedal
with beginner fumble,
black and blue everywhere,
yet never stopping.
Roaming about brain sponge-like.
Opinions and facts,
some prejudice-tinted
some societal constraints,
perspectives shaped.
Birth of thoughts
how the world should be,
individuality arose.
A series of chemical reaction,
a whole world of embarrassment
Blemished skins
Black curly keratin sprouting,
Pitchy voices bringing laughters,
Uncontrolled wild ideas
rampaging through the mind,
random construction of tents,
face red like tomatoes.
Clothes no longer fit,
styles constantly changing.
Constantly seeking, fitting.
When will it end?
Asked no further,
for it to stop abrupt.
Now no longer a child,
forever responsible for all things,
until your foot is in a box,
six feet under.
Bran's World 