'I would love',
Is my inspiration today.
The vocab seems to be stuck,
In quicksand.
The more I write,
The more I sink.
But the intention is to,
Come out of dilemma,
Of,
'To be or not to be.'

To be the 'remember-with-tears-and-smile' poet I want to be,
To not be the 'average' that I am.

To be an invisible part of an artsy club,
To not be the 'attention of center'.

To have power over others,
To not be a rude motherfucker.

I’m Billie Eilish in my own musical,
I’m Dali of my own art,
I’m Rushdie of my story.
I’m a Metaphor,
Losing Fur.

'I would love to',
Lay on the beach, just to watch the sky.
Read a book, in the middle of a fight.
Play a uke string, and mesmerize.
Watch a film, my film, screened.
Have a beer, and feel the full capacity.
Ride drunk, in a new city.
Use a unheard-of word or two, I learnt lately.

'I would love to',
Break the monotony, of thoughts.
Have a new birth, of some sorts.
New struggles, created.
More hustles, arriving.
Be the love interest, of the king of hearts.
Be the reason, of the biggest divorce of universe.
Be the news interest, accused of a murder.

I’m a Metaphor,
Losing Fur.

'I would love to',
Be bald.
Be bold.
Be the sweetest sugar cube.
Be the bitterest soy sauce.
Be the hottest ex.
Be the lucky-unlucky poetess.
And the fortunate-unfortunate outspoken-ness.

I’m a Metaphor,
Losing Fur.

-uk

Existential Crisis.