I stare into the mirror, hanging onto the white wall,
With my very own dark brown eyes.
Inner guts and misconstrued heart beat starts to bawl
Intertwined with the desperate attempt of my wondrous lies
Opening up to my parent's wails
Of hatred, their words ever so stale
Meaningful sounds rolling off of their lips
While their very own voice is drowned out by their personal sips
by all means of meaningless drinks
When I roll off of the brinks
because I know
That what they see is truly..... garbage.
Garbage is such a special word
Something that most keeps away
Because of its vulgar smell, vulgar taste
Yet garbage was once something that they loved to taste
It was food, our willful consumption
It was objects, our willing usages
It was loved one's memories, our desires and dreams.
I am garbage
A mix of yin and yang
A mix of black and white
A mix of rainbow and ever so spice.
A mix of something to remember.