I have no clue of what good scents smell like,
I have no better taste of good food,
sometimes I confuse bad smell for sweat.
I belong to the streets.
However how much I try, my system remains unadjustable.
I don’t have high starched collars,
I don’t do high top shoes,
The Hair on my head Is dirt coloured,
But still, I’m human. Underneath this prim exterior,
there are depths of emotions.
Romantic longings that miss satisfaction.
I know I’m dull as ditch water,
But ditching me upon confession darkens my world more.
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