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Broken

I feel so young, not frail or broken.

Yet mind and body wars against my token

And I feel utterly alone one screaming moment

Only to change in utter joy, what a bestowment!

A splitting self the doctor sees, am I by-polar?

Cause if I sit and listen to myself

I may agree with such a shattered order 

And even let it rule my gutted choice.

But then again I noticed all my darkened moments 

They come when others stab and slash my way.

And I can slash right back with such precision

But then again I tell myself, what of their pain?

Are their intentions good, oblivious, pure evil?

At times I ask myself that very thing.

For stewy mess is like a promised ring

Which never makes it’s way into the swing

Of brave new dreams. Ends up a silly fling. 

But pain still bleeds from every wounded corner 

And at some moments I don’t seem to care.

But life is full of dance moves on sharp needles 

And en-between there are some roses too

Yet how you tip your toes around such poses 

Is up to you. Right? No need to be always blue.