Who I am

Who I am

I am what you might call an abnormal specie
Although I possess most characteristics of homosapiens I feel homo…different
People say I’m an epitome of art which I find amusing
I feel more like a homeless spirit tossed around by the wind without purpose.
I hardly do things my friends do, sometimes I try hard to blend
My friends tell their love stories and emotions
I go to my story pot and cook creative stories of me spiced with scenes from Indian movies
I have a barricade of fear, anxiety and distrust around my stomach so you can’t find butterflies there
Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t had any heart breaks… Maybe once or twice… I don’t remember because I’m not bothered
I gave up on love long time ago… Maybe I didn’t… Maybe it just… Left.
So here I am on a serious relationship with depression and solitude
My friends tell tales of their sex experience with girlfriends, party strangers but I’m too shy to tell them of my daily threesome with my lovers.
I flirt sometimes and it seems like a natural gift, I could say sweet words that will make Shakespeare’s grave tremble but I never have the strength to go further; to lie on their naked body because I fear I might break their hearts if I go too deep. She might think I’m in love but get disappointed the next morning then sing aloud the daily female hymn “Men are scum”
I’m considered the devil’s agent because I’m one of the few species who dare to ask “why” whenever it comes to religious matters.
I am a stranger to myself, I say and do things I never thought I could. I’m a coward, luckily my alter ego is fierce, he’s the gifted one; the poet and smooth talker, I just take the credits.
I’m scared of marriage, will I marry because I love her or because my mother desperately needs grandchildren so she can sing lullabies to their tiny ears? Will I love my wife? How will I when love seems like a foreign, ancient and forgotten language?
I am the only one of my kind.
I am… I really don’t know who I am.



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