Unorganized Thoughts of a Discombobulated Teen



Chuckle Mr. Giggle

Being tickled as I Wiggle

Juvenile in thought

Mature in mind

Mine… You are.. or at least I want you to be

Least is what you expect of me because I’m not what you want me to be.

Bee.. Buzzing on a hot summer day

Sweet Honey slowly burning on the stove.

Mama’s cooking those sweet biscuit again.

Or at least I wish she would

Mama don’t cook no more

Supposedly I’m old enough to care for myself

My own job, My own money, Pay my portion of the bills

But Ma, I’m only 16

“I came to the states when I was 16, and never did I complain about taking care of myself,”

It’s a new age, she’ll never understand.

Misunderstood I remain

Until the value of hard work falls upon me.

Me? Yet who is she? or Who is I?

In question..

Questions I’m afraid to answer for I am afraid finding my purpose becomes the end of me.

Oh God!

You call him, but never see him, yet he’s there protecting me

Well my hearts broken, I’m not a cover girl, the most likes I get are on the internet.

Where is he now?

Where was daddy when I was growing up

Too many kids to care for one

Confined between thick bullet-proof glass

Draped in orange dressing,


Labels put on the man inside a place of maximum security

Then why don’t I feel secure.

Vulnerable indeed, because I’ve been looking for love

Yet love is yet to find me.

Where is she? Or He?

Whatever society expects me to be.

Expectation are the beings of our disappointment.

Yet I expect less and still disappointed by my ability to be more.

Or lack there of

But what do I know

I’m 17 now, still not cover girl material, and the most likes I get are on facebook.



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