Life through my eyes

My mother named me Amorous Nehemiah,

On June 17th of 2011,

I grew up being told that I was named after love,

I’ve come to believe earth is hell, so there must be some kind of heaven

I know people, and the way they are,

But because of my heart, and the way I love-

I imagine people as pure white doves,

And as soon as I feel my heart is crushed,

As soon as I feel another emotional scar,

Evolving into rage,

I start to think with my heart, because my brain becomes trapped in a cage,

But that’s just me, and whoever I am,

From an early age, I realized I was different,

Age 3, halloween, 2014,

I think that’s what caused me to subconsciously be distant,

May be the reason why I come of as mean,

To strangers, and familiars- 

But that's what happens when you’re the ‘odd one out’

Age 9 is when i realized how much fitting in mattered to me,

Before this, being too light to be ‘black’ 

And not qualifying as Mexican because Spanish was never my first language, 

Didn’t mean a lot to me,

Where I’d belong, in between the sidewalk cracks,

That’s where I planned to stay for the next couple years,

I always loved school, and how much the human brain could learn,

But now I can't stand the building, the hallways are like jammed freeways,

Everyone on their phones, not noticing how slow they’re moving,

Honestly, as I grew I realized not all things are given- in fact, 

Most are earned, 

I’ve also realized that everyone has different ways,

And most of them are afraid of losing,

Losing a game, or losing their grandmother,

But whatever it is, they're still afraid of losing,

I like the idea of true love, to be genuinely loved would be perfect,

But I hate the idea of perfection,

The fantasy of being flawless and free,

I think they put me in the wrong section,

With people who like to throw others’ hearts into sea,

To be lost and forgotten, 

But those are the same people that hear their name, 

And their first thing that comes to mind is-

The question ‘how did i become so rotten’

But like i said, after a while

The pain morphs into rage,

I like coffee, I hate candy, 

Its been like that forever, for as long as i can remember,

I love to talk, but I was taught to ‘speak when spoken to’

And I get mad, but I was taught ‘adolescence gives me no reason to be angry’

My last day on earth, i’ll probably need a cleanup crew,

To pick up all the glass I broke, they’ll only to find an unbroken glass or two,

I created both of them, on the day I wasn’t being so lazy,

I like solitude, 

I like the feeling of comfort that comes with sitting alone with your thoughts,

I didn’t always like solitude- at first, I couldn't stand it,

I hate being tickled,

I can’t stand the idea of having no control over what someone does to me,

Cause the reflex to being tickled is to laugh, 

And i think that’s was people see as permission to continue,

I think that’s enough reasoning,

Lessons I was taught-

‘Never shake a man’s hand sitting and always look them in the eye’

‘True friendship can’t be bought’ he said,

‘Repeating the same particular thing over and over again is the definition of insanity’

But what if I never wanted to shake his hand in the first place?

What about the reason one would go insane?

For me, It’d probably be. humanity. 

Life is like a storybook-

Only you can’t just skip to the back to see if you get happy ending,

It’s bigger- more chapters and no definitions in the back,

Sometimes you already know a few complicated words,

But mostly, you have to infer or find out the hard way,

For me, it feels as though I am stuck on chapter one-

Full of complicated big words,

And for some odd reason, i keep on losing my page

To whoever’s writing my book,

If you're done with writing chapter 2,

Why haven’t you flipped the page?