.

you ask me how I'd feel

told you I that I'm fine

I don't know how to feel

cause I never see life straight.

but if you're a bit

interested in me

that I let you in my bubble

where everything is made of glass.

see the world in a different lens with me

told cha I'm myopic

where the death of

I never tell you how I feel

cause I don't bother to heal

I got my Meibomian gland cut

cause feelings are nuts, aren't they.

ask my pillow about

how many tears I'd shed

finding myself amongst other

piling insercurities on and on above.

ask my blanket about

times I shiver in the cold

worrying my future

dwindling on the past.

ask my mirror about

how bad I look ever morning

with my eyes half-opened

trying to see life.

I know this ain't poems or shit since it's much worse than that.

but yeah, I offer you all I had, though it's much less than others'.

26/2/2021.