I’m a finished piece of art,
A dirty canvas
And no space left for you to correct it,
Not a perfect sculpture
But atleast all my parts are still attached,
If you try to make changes, I’ll only fall apart;
Too late to mould me into something I’m not,
Too late to mould me into something you’d someday want,
I’m sorry I hurt you with my imperfect curves
I’m sorry what I had just wasn’t enough
P.S I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been active on here. Heck, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been active anywhere! This is a last minute poem I just wrote. If insomnia has taught me anything, it’s every second you’re not passed out is an opportunity to create. No matter what kind of nonsense you come up with. Chronic Insomnia also taught me that the reason you’re alive right now Prady, is because you’re not snoozing. Be happy you’re not snoozing.
Until next time (which is going to be reaaaal soon, I promise) stay safe and try to stay outta trouble.