I am Allergic

i am allergic to this place,
it makes me feel so ill
the past i brought it in my bags
to rethink it at will;

for thinking makes me happy
it makes me feel like "me"
and I'm not like you brother
for you're but poverty;

and i am better sister,
than you will ever be,
my hair in curls, mascara,
my butt, so round to see;

not happy where i seem to be
i move often to find,
a place where others aren't so grim
where love i hope to find;

it seems it is my story
from place to place I go
never happy, and in search for love,
accept me or you're foe;

hoping that things were different now
or that the past had changed,
but no I brought it with me
my pain all pre-arranged;

what is this story proving
a victim of the One ?
must I prove that I'm right up to
the end in death succumb ?

why not let go of error
it's just a thought mis-thought,
an error in the mind is but
a cloud the sun sees not.

Copyright 2008, Donald Chandonnet