I smell its aroma

In the vicinity,

And though its

Syllabically new,

I’ve heard about

It’s trauma more

And less about it

Being true.

 

I’ve foraged for

Many things;

Necessary things,

Vital and odd things,

But never for love.

 

I remember

Opening my eyes

For the very first time,

Only to see my parents

Not feeling fine.

 

Sooner or later

I discovered that

I wasn’t their own,

A fact I only wished

That I’d never known.

 

Growing up

In a foster nest,

Affection or love

From an unknown

Identity, an outsider,

Or a look-alike

Always seemed

Like a harmful pest.

 

I’ve always been

On the solitary side;

Kindness in abundance,

And adoration to hide.

 

Having travelled a lot

In the past few days,

Every time something

Or someone offers

A place for me

In their heart,

I choose to leave

Rather than stay,

Because choosing

The latter would

Make me pay.

 

I see people,

And I instantly know

When I see one adjourn

To empty spaces

While someone promises

To provide warmth;

A feeling of hesitance  

To follow their traces.

 

My heartful tweet

Reaches out to them

As it does fall

Within my ken;

 

If you have a habit

Of walking away

From attachments,

I dearly feel you,

It is the only thing that

Isn’t syllabically new

For I have myself

Abandoned quite a few,

But unlike me,

I hope you don’t sabotage

What’s meant for you,

Who knows?

This one

Might be true.