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I was born to be misunderstood.
I’m a poet because I just want you to understand me.
And yet I’m the radio that is broken.
I wish you could hear me sing.
How my voice echoes off that marble floor.
How my soul dances
Yearns for embrace.
Yearns to be smothered and then integrated
into that supermassive black hole.
This was never about me…
It was always about your misinterpretations.
If you look at me
I’ll be your reflection.
Almost cracking.
(c) A.R. Minhas 2021
