My Reality

I always face dejection.
Is it only because I live fathoms away from perfection?
Do you think it is my fault?
Ofcourse not!
Who wants to become the victim of mental assaults?

They don't know my potential.
But I know it a little.
An it's trivial.
Trivial enough to be considered as inessential.

I try to be bold.
But for this I need some more friends,
Who are faithful enough to hold,
The essence of my feelings
Which are seldom ignored.
Talking with me people feel bored.

I cannot weep or cry,
Because its against the image of an 'ideal' boy.
But I am not too coy,
To redress everything that fetches me joy.

Why can't people bear me smile?
Afterall, even I'm a juvenile.
But no, people think I'm rude and bad,
Fit for a mental asylum because he is mad.

Earlier I used to laugh on such objections.
But today I've weakened considerably,
After facing so many similar harassing perceptions.

Some of my friends say that my eyes are deep,
I agree, because they are filled with those tears which I'd weep.
No one has ever appreciated me.
Those 'ones' have only reminded me that,
I'm nothing more than a parasitic flee.

I know I have some talent,
But whenever I move ahead to display it,
This barbarous world interferes and coerces me
To lament.

I tried to change myself.
But I cannot accomplish this task
Until people possess an invidious prejudice,
About me, who is indeed hapless.

I've lost.
Lost against the same world,
That left me engrossed
And gave me that strength which I awfully tossed.
It has made me a destitute today,
And like a beetle shivering in the frost.