Baskadia

Judged

They picked up a thorny crown, tore my foreskin, blood runs through face as they try to fit the crown to my head. They pushed it down so it fits properly.

It feels so painful, I can feel my skull burn with much deepness and intensity. I allow myself to wear this crown, because one way or the other they’ll find another way to put me through more painful and severe scorn than this.

This crown cuts deep into my flesh, this kind of torture hits my soul and devours my heart. It goes beyond a mere scar that can heal over time, no this scar is engraved on the layers of your heart and soul. It looked more like a condemned way to kill a person yet make him live to feel a taste of his own death.

My mind is still intact, I can still recognize every face and name that forced that crown on my head. What breaks my heart is those faces showed me the same smiles we shared together, the hands I shook some time back pushed thorns down my head. Now my heart bleeds more than my flesh, heartaches from betrayals from my souls I cared about dearly.

Im saddened by the manner society takes it upon theirselves to tear you down, I’m angry at these people I call my friends who joined the crusade to Judge one’s actions and mannerisms based on situations that one has less control over.

The moment you set your feet on a path to trail blaze, they call you an outcast yet they forgot you are one of them you just decide to think differently.