There is this needle
In my head
It goes in and out
And in and out
All through the day
So bloody pointy I don’t know who sharpens it while it’s already at work, ALWAYS.
It’s unbreakable too, at least that’s what I have discovered.
I didn’t tell Them about it.
Looks like they speak a language that I do, too
But they understand a completely foreign language that I Know nothing about!
So it’s hard to explain them, about this needle
I don’t know may be unknowingly they played their roles too,
In sharpening its parts, its tip.
I think they did it when they forgot to teach me to speak the language that they understood.
It’s so hard being in here,
In this dark room with windows
Where the light pokes the wounds instead of healing them.
And then suddenly everything! This and that and yes that in the corner too,
Adds onto the pile
There are so many needles now
All of them trying to bind me,
Put me through their hollow parts
Crush my ends, spit on me just to be able to crush me all the more!
Till when I fit in
When I finally give up and sew my dear tongue
And my ears and my lips and then my heart
Damn! Their points bite and rip apart my skin
And they think that they are making me beautiful
Shit, they think that they are making me better.
Just like that man, who plucks the flowers and puts them on her tiara
He thinks that he did those selected few a favor,
“You are the best ones so you got picked, do you understand that?”
“How will they?”, I ask him!
Man they don’t understand the language that you speak!
Lucky are the ones, who aren’t that perfect,
They aren’t picked so soon.
They remain intact with their souls
A little longer
Until they die and fall down on their own will.