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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424533" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Do You See Me</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's 3: 58am in New York city, <br>My pen painting patterns, while my tongue drowns in whiskey.<br>I heard dines-ties have always been created on tragedies, <br>Tragedies make the morning news, <br>And legacies are only remembered if the legend dies horribly.<br>Two months shy and 6 years away from 30, <br>My life a catacomb, <br>Decorated with loneliness and too much self-pity.<br>My various talents a facade like plaster of paris, <br>From which my chandeliers fall from these watery walls. <br>And every few years I meet a certain someone who sends my depression into coma, <br>Covering me with another blanket of bullshit, till I forget the color of my skin.<br>And when I shed, I shed painfully, <br>Pealing of my flesh, till vultures feed on my bloody wounds <br>And on this crusted scabies, bugs lay their eggs. <br>My people are the most insecure people I have ever met, <br>Diligently teaching ourselves to never feel pain, <br>Till we never feel pain, <br>Even in death. <br>I want to visit all my ex's naked with a rose in hand, <br>Kneel and apologize for never giving them a chance to really see me. <br>I try to turn my life stories into paintings, <br>But I'm constantly prosecuted by the people closet to me, <br>So instead I recline into this cain chair, <br>Self practicing chemotherapy, <br>Still struggling with nightmares I had when I was 7, <br>With flashbacks of my father's belt on my bare bony bum, <br>Molding my veins into titanium. <br>I feel a grief that can't be spoken, <br>Were words are constantly on vacation, <br>Allow me share this blank canvas, <br>A part of me worthy of your interpretation.<br>Do you see me? <br>I'm naked, <br>More naked than I have ever been with all my clothes off.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>09/10/12. Hollywood, California.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jolomi+Amuka">Jolomi Amuka</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424533" data-title="Do You See Me de Jolomi Amuka" data-description="It's 3: 58am in New York city, 
My pen painting patterns, while my tongue drowns in whiskey.
I heard dines-ties have always been created on tragedies, 
Tragedies make the morning news, 
And legacies are only remembered if the legend dies horribly...."></div>
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