I Am... Scholarship Slam

I have a million thoughts running through my head and it seems that none of them have a clear answer for me. I'm as sure-fire crazy and obsessive as i was two months ago and as when i was eight and as when i was born!

Fresh out of my mother's womb my eyes saw colors and shapes instead of walls and mice ran on side-ways hamster wheels on the inside of my cranium.

Worms and snakes and centipedes complied of my sinuous brain tissue and red roses blossomed out of my inflamed, sore eye sockets.

Blue droplets outlined my eyebrows as if i resembled one of those Candy Skulls, and gold bars emulated the contour of my cheek bones.

Could you imagine a baby, soft with the scent of honey, skin as smooth and milky as the first stone you picked up as a child to feebly skip in to the sound?

Toes the size of Nerds candy and fingernails of Keratin as thin as the construction paper you colored with Crayons on as a child.

A baby, wrapped in a blanket of what resembles cotton candy as we look back and reminisce, God, how we wish we had that blanket now to cuddle with. If only you could feel, stroke, and clutch that blanket while looking into that baby's innocent, eager, and new eyes-then everything would be alright. The reassurance in that pose is so immeasurable that i'm not sure Kepler himself could have measured it.

As i tell this to you, i picture a business man in a navy pin-striped suit sitting in a Windsor rocking chair, staring at the child in which at the same time he's cradling. Why is it that those who present themselves with such aggressiveness need compassion the most? Why do people tell us they love us and do something completely different? 

 
This poem is about: 
Me
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