I hate somewhere’s.

Somewhere inside calloused knees,
a voice gyrates
slowly murmuring holy scriptures
emanating inside caged ribs
caged by ivory promises and skeletal reminisces.

emerged from somewhere deep
was a round egg
cracked to the horizon;
only to sizzle up wavy patterns
of yellowish pus
looking too cool in the aftermath
of an explosion.
I raised my hands devouring all the exclamations
later constipated by trendy syllables;
yet, I stared at my knees
decorated with too many vowels
all having an interesting story to narrate,
embarrassing me.

the apparitions of medieval history
gagged me, by the colorfulness;
I was bound to black and gray
traveling back to antiquity
somewhere I belong.

somewhere inside a coliseum
build upon anagram
shuffled to the word trust
I stood barefoot
enjoying the coldness
bathing my foot with prickles
later to sting with numbness,
but I stood still
blanketed with Goosebumps;
yet, I never got what I wanted
I don’t know what I want.

slim and prim were the actor
hiding behind thick shades of blue,
peeking in and out
like it’s hiding from me.
a lone star encourages the pregnant moon
to come out and shine
but, her fingers are wrapped upon invisible guilt
of having the burden
within her
and she is at last everyone’s milky queen.
but she feels bad
for pushing out her outward belly;
only in a days time, to collect them back.
I am like her,
how, I don’t know.

I am eaten up by moth
crawling from the books;
by the size of the moth
my mom scolds me, it’s because two days
is the max I take to complete
a four hundred page novel.
You can’t blame me, to feel incompetent,
I complain.
she shakes her head in defeat
and by the end of my umpteenth snickers bar,
I lost count of the book that smells fresh,
like me after a bath.
I am indispensable;

am I?

glass slippers are so old school,
so I custom made
from silverware,
and folded my clothes
with golden threads.
Alas,
I can only shape
what I can
with my hands; others are just
forbidden fruit.

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