Who am I
Without my story?
Who am I
Without the dialogue
In my head
Or the poetry
Flowing from my hands
And lips?
Or the art that
I create?
I am cursed to feel what I feel
I am blessed to have what I have
I am what I am,
A Manea.
Pain is like bright blinding light,
Love is like a beloved's embrace
in the dark of night…
both are my companions
through this life.
Most of the world
Eats baloney.
I eat delicacies
Only the divine itself
Has dreamed of…
Is the cost of Heavenly feelings
The depths of my migraines?
Are such dichotomies
Necessary?
I guess so since they are there…
When you argue with reality…
You can only lose
100% of the time.
Does the pain
Change who I am?
Do the masses of
Lovers showering me
With affections
That only Kings of old
Could dream of
Change who I am?
Who would I be with them?
Who would I be without them?
The Sun isn't defined by the flowers
But is fulfilled with some purpose
When they grow
And bloom.
I am no different…
I am meant to shine
With pleasure
With pain
I am just a Manea
All the same.
