Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

If imitation is the highest form of flattery, why does your carbon copy of me fill me with rage? Born deficient and inbred, without enough personality to even fill half a page. Your adoration was endearing at first, I wore it like a ribbon, you were the prized pig, until we parted ways, and you continued to assume that you were still as big. I gave you your confidence, yet created a monster in the process, played you like a pawn in a life sized game of Chess. You were pathetic at your best, as you had me fooled to believe that you were different from the rest. Instead, I wish I had seen through your facade, and realized that you were a mistake, and hardly an act of God. Your own mother barely knew whose seed you had sprouted from, with a complete lack of ambition, you were best suited to dwell within the slums like sickening scum. Your rotten teeth were so decayed, your breath reeked of failure, and the foul odour of stale bandaids. The people you assumed were friends laughed a...

Sardonic scars severely surround my seven seas, as critical razorblade kisses caress my sunkissed knees. I can play at happy, plaster a smile upon my frowning face, and pretend that it is all okay. But pretenses never get me far, nor will they create rainbows in my skies that are coloured in greys. Daunting death daringly beckons me asking me to come out and play, yet I refuse to give up, or give in, as I grow stronger with each new dreamfilled day. I disassociate myself from the mundane, and toxic strangers who were once so close, as my friendly future fondly promises that it will never fail to keep me engrossed. Your hatred, once my lullaby, no longer translates into words, as your soul is restless now, without control over me, your heart flutters, and flaps inside you like the clipped wings of a caged bird. All the ups, and downs, and highs, and lows, have poisoned my poetic prose, like coratid kisses from a cancerous, and thorny rose. For every lie you tell, the worse your k...

Child, it's time to grow up before you drink too greedily out of life's cup. Recognize when you are wrong, accept it when you fail, or prepare for a lifetime filled with ships that refuse to sail. The difference between a man and a boy, is that a man always accepts what he cannot change, and is never coy. You are merely a mouse, disguised in man's clothing; the object of my pity, and the epitome of loathing. You cry to the skies, berating God for all of your troubles. Krishna would not even answer you, but instead would let you boil, and bubble. Berating the world for the monkies that sit upon your back, even though all it would take, is retracing your tracks. What is it that changed, and made you so deranged? How did you turn so yellow, when you claimed to be the strongest fellow? Your nine lives are almost over, and you are left with only one; this might as well be 2012 as you emit flares like the sun. You will die soon, and your lack of legacy will be left behi...

Two roads converged at the foot of a snow covered hill, one would surely lead to treasures while the other led downhill. I chose the former, for once in my life, as it glittered like gold. I was ecstatic, and so relieved, to have found someone so dear to hold. You are worth your weight in diamonds, pearls pale in comparison to your smile. The light behind your eyes fills me with wonder, and makes me pray that you will stay awhile. For once, body, heart, soul, and mind agree that you may just be the best thing to ever happen to me. All my troubles seem so far away now that you are near; your ability to listen, selflessly, makes me hopeful for future years. Together we will map the world, sip tea at noon in London, spend midnights in Paris, and then wake up to breakfast in Dublin. We can eat baguettes as we walk through the Parisian rain, dance along the river Seine, then indulge our senses as the Louvre works magic in our brains. My attraction to you is as solid as la tour Eiffel, take ...