Pest

An identity crisis. To be identified. To abolish stereotypes. To rewrite first impressions. And to prove myself. The opportunity, more so, to prove who I am.

If I died, say, in an accident, I doubt anyone would be able to recognise me. I think, that's sad.

Why are these things so important to me, I ask myself.

I've come to a point in my life where I can't leave things, too many of it, to chance. Instead, I want to be given one, a chance, to prove myself. So many times, most of the time, I'm always judged so quickly that I am not given an opportunity to prove myself. I'm not saying I'm better than what you think of me, but at least give me the opportunity to shatter this pseudo image I have in your head. Apparently this pseudo image was created by me itself, like inception, planting a seed in your head and allowing all the negativity to water it, producing an ugly, distasteful fruit. But really, it's not. You're just judging too quickly.


I'm sick of it. Fed up with it all, all this distasteful images youse have about me. "It's pseudo it's pseudo" I'll be crying out loud, yet these cries are just wisps of air brushing past your ears. And it's annoying, yet you don't pay much attention to it. Cause you know it's just soft wind, a breeze. Apparently that's what you think it is, when it's not.

Yes I am down by this all. It's bringing me down. What more can I do? I can't change people, I can't change me. I can't change me. I can't change me.

Just look past the physicality of it all. I'm more than just that.
I'm more, than just that.

If I died, say, in an accident, I doubt anyone would be able to recognise me. I think, that's sad.
I think, that's just awful.

What do I have, but painful loneliness, and a heart that longs to be needed and cared for. I'm a man, with nothing. I'm not a man, at all.

I think, that's just sad.
I think, I'm suffocating.