Broken Beautiful People

Everyday feels like a different introduction,
As if my doctor prescribes different medication everyday,
Understand from my point you are just another hallucination,

Tomorrow might be,
Hi, my name is Khalid, can we be friends,
While yesterday could have been,
Hi, my name is Khalid, please leave me alone,

Don’t blame yourself, most of the time I blame myself,
I’ve been told broken people are beautiful,
Yet, I don’t believe this statement,

Future days might be,
Hi, my name is Khalid, instead of telling you the truth,
I will lie and pretend everything is alright,
Past days might have been,
Hi, my name is Khalid, today I refuse to leave my room,
I do not want any visitors nor do I want to visit others,

Slowly though, similar to a snail’s pace,
I am starting to understand what it means,
For somebody to say ‘broken people are beautiful people’,

Instead of Starbucks and Hollywood gossip,
Conversations with me lead us down spiral dirt paths,
Analyzing Ginsburg, performing Kerouac,
Abortion, Coke, and Nancy Reagan will be discussed,

Whether we are dreaming or driving impaired,
At least we will have found a comfortable bed to rest on,
It could be ours or the Sahara,
Maybe a Cuban beach under our picnic blanket,

Who knows? Who cares?
All that matters is that we are not hallucinating,
Merely happy, in accordance with, our right hand,
Touching one another after asking for permission,


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