they tell me to write about what i know,
i admit, i do not know much.
i do not understand the crashing of love
or the unexpected heartbreak
or the weariness of age.
but i know rejection,
it has a fragile taste,
and it wanders to the back of my mind,
just like pollution dawns in yours.
i am an ember,
the spark that never stopped burning,
don't fool yourself that we are the flame.
but i don't listen,
instead, i electrocute myself just for the fun of it,
it burns, but it doesn't matter.
its just another institutionalised fear of mine
that i will never reach up to NESA's standards,
they are right.
the fire was made for those in mossy fitted suits,
and neatly plaid skirts and all the other things i cannot name
because what if you were to know the intention of this writing.
what if you were to know that 14 units is not as fun as it seems,
and you watch yourself fall again and again
into the arms of a mother that only loves you
when you pay them 6000 a month.
but never again has a hurtful undertone,
and what if i was to forget,
i am nothing without my rank, my privilege
and my associates.
and i am nothing without
crushing my neck to the sound
of a 15 minute exam call.
make this your discovery text nesa i fucking dare you