It was the looks on the ways,
The murmurs when I passed,
The stares ,the whispers, the fingers,
A center of discussion,
An object of illustration,
I was a figure of condemnation,
This world was no longer an accommodation,
To them I was virus,
A plague to avoid,
An item of isolation,
Slowly I was losing the fight,
Losing hope for brighter days,
I was caged in their says,
Chained in emptiness,
I lost track of happiness,
Each day was just too dark to bear,
Rejection was my new attire,
Weary and teary with no one dear,
All alone in a world ,where love was a word,
Life pushed me to it’s cracks,
My story well told by my marks,
A life with no flow,
No reason to glow,
All I had was a crave, a crave for love,
Just once, before my grave.
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