I will tell a story

 I got a story to tell,
Everyone got one.
Maybe it's time I cough what has been in my chest for a long time.
The sun, the moon, the bright lights, the nightfall, the morning breeze. The storms and hurricane.

With a sound mind,
 I thought the  2 a. m will make me a legend, little did I get to know that I was wrong,
They made me weak, with every passing week, it was another lose end.

 I have these budding thoughts in my head.
Developed the habit of sleeping with a pen and diary next to my bed.
I wanted to tell a story.
Tried hitting the highway from an exit but I couldn't.
I really wanted someone to tell as to  why and how the simple things in life are a blessing.
I wanted to tell a story of my first love.
She was a pain in the ass,
Look at us, we met in the sugarcane plantation on my way back home,
She dropped my pants without my consent.

No, I wanted to tell a story of how poetry has become a sedative,
Anytime I feel like I'm having too much.
I find love in words more than I do in people.

I wanted to tell of my first heartbreak, I was 17.
I ended up sleeping in the backyard hoping she would come and find me. Didn't she say that we were inseparable?
That no chemistry could break the bond? dumb and broke, we only got a common history.

We attended the same geography class, only then did I find out that we were never on the same axis. Ouch! She was the North pole and I was the sunrise from the East side.
I wanted to tell a story of how we wrote suicidal notes and they were applauded as "awesome pieces". About the never ending sense of unease.
My broken fragments, always shining bright against the moon light.

I wanted to write a story about emptiness,
 the runaways,
 the eccentric,
 the have and the have nots.
The bipolar.
My psychopathic friend.
 My own degree of shattered dreams that ended up closed in a classroom.

 I will write a story with the biggest headline,
I will be the talk of the day,
And just before the story goes viral, it will be my last story.

I will write a story of something dark and twisted,
I have been living in my own head for a very long time,
Crawling under my skin feeling the melanin get rough,
My friend whi tried cutting himself with blades only to end up as a sucker of pain.
I will write of pain and happiness,
 For each end game had once a starting line.