Diary Of A Light Skinned Boy

Perfection- does that exist? Can the status be achieved?

I once yearned for that but it’s beyond me now, as I look deep within seeing nothing. This isn’t an attempt to be mildly poetic with pain, but an expression of what I truly feel. Mistakes are proof that we are only human, somewhat designed to fail, flawed by our earthly nature.

Why do I write this? I am ashamed of myself. Hopeless like never before, I accept defeat. The donkey’s head that sits on my neck as I stare in the mirror is the true reflection of who I am. A fool yes, the bitter truth.

The disgust in their voices and distrust in their stares unclothed and bore me to the true realization of who I really am. Countless apologises and promises of change unfilled. The word sorry carries no weight as it’s merely another frequent word I my vocab.

Undeserving of another chance; underserving of the light at the end of the tunnel. All hope is lost. No restraints being sucked into a big black hole with return out of sight. The urge to fight was never there. The belief of the great things eluded me. For the first time in a long time I cried. I cried! As tears roll down my cheeks, the pain magnified, crippling my heart with shame, pain and disgust and for a mini second, a leap off the ledge deemed a quick solution.

This isn’t an exaggeration of one event but the outburst to a collective disaster. Why does pain gift me with the ability to write?

Maybe I have achieved perfection in my own imperfect way.

2 thoughts on “Diary Of A Light Skinned Boy

  1. Our pain is what makes us most poetic. Because we are like raw sugar, the most concentrated purest form of ourselves.


    1. Yes, I agree. Pain helped me developing my writing skills. I would be nothing without it.

      Liked by 1 person

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