I was still shortI was still unmarried
I was still lonesome
I was still broke
I still did everything in a pattern
I still walked around with my flower
I still went to bed by 08:30pm
I still had two tosses of bread for dinner
I still walked around with a malignant lack of self-esteem
I still walked around alone
I still found comfort in an old pair of jeans and baggy t-shirts
I still sat down on a carpet to watch T.V
with the attention of a watchdog
I still had no sofas
I still stayed at the pathetic quarters
I still slept on a four-inch bed
I still chased rats around the small house
I still spent my weekdays watching the ceiling
I still hated weekends
I still hosted men over but none ever spent a night
I still never had friends visiting
I still used kerosene to cook
I still worried about my weight
I still did not watch the news
I still woke up cursing the world
I still hated existence
I still had no dreams
I still blamed my past for my fruitless future
I still never called home nor friends or work
I still went home on seldom days
I still did my job with a smile on my face
that never touched my eyes nor my heart
I still longed for the day my life would begin
I still longed to make things right
I still told myself I will be better when I'm older.
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