AN....IT

Nights like this, I just sit.

Watching the drops expand. As it hits my swollen hand. 

Soaking into a world that’s made of gestures.

 But is a gesture sinless?

 A wave. 

A wave given from an experienced girl.

 A creature of God that has no purpose. 

Seeing no destination. 

But somehow faces a journey. 

I don’t know what to think. 

What to say?

An emotional colored freak. 

A imperfect smile. 

A loner.

 Antisocialist. 

An IT. 

No significance in life. 

No father to hate. 

No girl advice from a sibling. 

No guidance of how to be a women.

How to avoid temptation?

How to avoid heartache? 

How to avoid love? 

An IT.

Digging up her own grave as we speak

 A grave full of regrets.

 A childish act.

 Lacking moral respect.

 IT should be buried into chemicals of life. 

Not a trap of what she has brought upon herself.

 An IT carries the organ of sight. 

Eyes that close with fear. 

Eyes that witness shame. 

Eyes that hates. 

And hates herself. 

But…she has nowhere to hide. 

She doesn’t camouflage into life like others. 

She’s an IT on nights like this.