Dear Manuel,

Here I must confess

All that I’ve ever desired to.

My emotional state is one turmoil mess.

I’m in a state of confusion,

That I don’t even know with whom I mesh.

I keep on falling behind

With no chances to run and hide.

My dreams of glory fog my mind

But to my disgrace,

I’m only a legend in my own mind.

I long for purity but I practice sex.

I crave for love but it’s lust that I get.

Not caring for myself.

But yet I’m said to have a narcissistic disorder.

Conventional beauty wrapped

Around an anti-conformist mind.

Confusion-confusion-confusion

I kiss so many but love no one.

The ones that are closest to me

Are the ones that hurt me the most.

The ones that are the farthest from me

Are the ones that I yearn for their attention.

Sorry, for my lament

I wouldn’t have confessed my sins

If I wouldn’t feel that you’re the other side of me.

You’re my secret identity.

My mask—

I am hiding behind your grandeur.

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