Prena Poetry

Life is an art
A seraphic madness and a nomadic beauty
Placed under our ribcage.
Innate with the emotions I drench in
And a stranger to the consciousness
I crave for
Maybe this is how we were born
Aware yet unaware of the fate
Placed in our palms
Lacking wit and smiling so dynamically
Letting this psychedelic insanity
Drain the humanness out of our blood
Lost
In between confusion and delusion
Seeking for poetries and poets
Ripping apart the pages
Of what we once wrote in the shame
Maybe this is how we were made
Kindled with a flesh and bones
Made me believe in the kindness of strangers
And the irresistible beauty
Of a fleeting impermanence
Fitting pieces of our selves
In some forgotten books
And finding pieces of other people
Heaving in between the
Spaces of our fingers
Trying,
Over and over
And again and again.
Believing that maybe, one day
We can be someone beautiful too
Maybe, one day
We can be loved easily
Regardless of the hate we carry
For our own body and soul
And still convincing the world to
Believe in art and life
What a waste, what a waste