•Holding Hands With Passion•

I was always an unusual little boy,
My mother told me that I had a chameleon soul,
No moral compass pointing me due North, no fixed personality,
Just an inner indecissiveness that was as wide & wavering as the ocean,
I belonged to no one-
Who belonged to everyone-
Who had nothing-
Who wanted everything-
With a fire for every experience & an obsession for freedom
That terrified me to the point that I could not talk about it,
& it pushed me to a nomadic state of madness that dazzled & dizzied me..

Apparently, I chewed the umbilical cord off while I was still in the womb,
I couldn't get out of there fast enough,
All my life, I couldn't wait to do anything,
When I learned to crawl, I would cry
Because all I ever really wanted to do was to walk & when I learned to walk,
There was nothing I yearned for more than to run, & not just to run, but to run away,
My point B was more like point Z,
& point Z was my destination, farthest known planet away,
& to not be able to breathe was not that high a price to pay,
Every cause was a cause I was willing to die for,
I didn't have opinions but I had a passion,
& if you think that passion was blind, I'll be the first to let you know-
Damn right it was!!
But to not be able to see is the price I have learned I could never pay,
It is the only sacrifice to chill my bones,
& the only expense I could never spare because ignorance has never been bliss,
& bliss has never been at the starting point-
When I was in my mother's womb..

There's a reason why I wanted to run away,
Eagerness was in learning, bliss was in knowing-
What to put passion behind,
What to fight for,
What to stand against,
& which fights to flee,
I will always know that to die is to be void of passion,
Because that is the root of life, at least it is for me,
Because getting a shot in the gums so as not to feel the pain in the tooth
Has always seemed so crazy to me,
& is probably why I detest those shots and visits to the dentist,
See, I can stand the sight of blood & the pain of it being drawn,
& only hope for a scar, and better yet, a story & a moral to teach,
Knowledge to share & spread & a cool little mark to trace
Or to wince at the memory of but never to wish for it to vanish,
& to never resent,
Even if that pretty girl from school went-
''Dang, that's one ugly-ass looking scar!!''
Because my scars will always be there for me,
But you would leave me for perfect skin, atendered piece of meat,
Mine is too flawed, or maybe even fat,
Or maybe even too fat for you,
Too dark or black, not light enough,
I need a sign that reads-
Warning:- Not for the weak of heart,
P.S:- Kind of weak in the heart,
Oh but P.P.S:- Kind of hard in the head,
& one more thing:- Easily depressed,
Oh, I'm sorry, I almost forgot to add:-
Easily side-tracked but not easily misled,
& my temper is hot enough to contract a fever from,
But that is what happens when you hold hands with passion,
& you let it be the ring on your finger, and the immunity to your morality,
Water that is like a fire to your fire,
It's the key to keeping you cool but only feeds your flame,
& the only thing that keeps you hydrated,
But a probable cause your inevitable demise..
Easily, the best decision I could have ever made,
Was when I was still maybe just a foetus, or an under-developed baby perhaps,
Was to run away, because I started so early,
& I've made it such a long way that to go back to the days of my blind passion,
Would take so long that I'd be long gone by the time I reached point A...