My body is a home I am not comfortable living in.

I'll dig for my skull, for my face to sink.

Cause they speak about the pretty things, I myself don't seem to agree

That the beauty they try to say existed in me.

I trace the ghost of scars that has once haunted in my wrist

Letters of names and straight line injuries

There's a battle in between the nerves and positivity

Who cares who would win? I'd still bleed at the very end of this. 

I wish I can sell my brain, and purchase something new.

I yearned for the minds from the greatest; Poets, authors and gurus.

My head starts to ache from forcing to be better than myself.

But is it worth every ache when at the end, I'm still the second best?

We all have favored mirrors which take us to the perception we desire

But how do we learn to believe when most of the reflections are liars?

Our minds can manipulate our senses, the way we see ourselves

Mine's a mind of mess, a dysfunctional kind that's too tired to compliment

My own, my face, my body, my works.

Believe in yourself, they say. I lost that a long time ago.

I got road signs in my bedroom, arrows and names of places to redirect.

Because even in my own safe haven, I have lost myself and disconnected.