"Blur, everything's a blur.
Unclear, there's a fog in my Brain.
I can't sift through my own thoughts.
Which ones are pretence, Which ones are mine.
I lose myself, the minute I'm Abused.
Is there no way out of this mental mess.
I am tired of my brain, it feels heavy; no amount of asprin will help.
I need a break from all the breaks; these breaks never help either.
How long before I fit in?
How long before I am comfortable being in my own skin?"
I wrote this poem in the dead of the night and I didn't have any paper to write on. Again, letting go of my previously held notion that technology kills creativity. I believe, as for now atleast, that a poem as a product appears as a result of your thoughts. So whenever I read a friend's poetry, I ask what they were thinking about. So, when my friend asked me, "So, what were YOU thinking when you wrote this poem.?", I replied, "Precisely what I've written." At this age, everyone is constantly battling their own demons and no one knows where they stand. Your religious, political and social views will change from what they are today, we are told. But why wait for later. Why can't we accept them as permanent and move on with life? Then there are our own personal beliefs that need to be "rectified" by someone else. It is all too overwhelming for now, isn't it?