Dear loser,
it’s your greatest fan. Your one and most caring supporter—nobody. I have been most bothered about you. I tried reaching out to you a couple of times but the cloud gave me no good reception to say hello. I normally see you walk by and truly I must say, you need to gain some skin; forgive the world for treating you numb; also forgive the sun for mocking you into a shadow of yourself. have been called many names, and I know as much as I’ve heard that you own the most unconventional names in the society. It’s not a bad thing, you know. We both know humans be humans and they forget so soon that you weren’t born ‘Loser‘ by first name. ‘Weirdo‘, ‘Ghostmode‘, ‘scardey cat‘, ‘overdo‘, ‘unserious‘, ‘outcast‘ even ‘freak‘. All these names I’ve seen them crown you with their lips, in the congregation of their gossips, but it seems none has ever come up front to confront the rumors.
I was told you failed whole lot back the in college. I was told you had quite a displaced focus, that conditions were strong enough to shapen your thoughts into a confined living. That fears had eclipsed your vision ever since your very first fail.
All where whispered to me by the wind.
There far been some bothers I could not lay off my chest; A treasure of questions yearning for your sanity. Hoping you can reach out answers to them:
Did you ever feel bad after seeing the nouveau of something not anticipated?
oh, yeah, I euphemised. It’s better that way. When your child-like wishes didn’t santa-clause through, did you laugh it off like a funny memory, or it stuck on you a bloodstain on a white shirt—scar?
Did the lonely first fail ever find a companion hidden in your secret drawer? Were they a pair or a colony of errs you wish you could debug yourself of? I’m asking, did your ever regret the repercussions of your actions? Did that regret foster a lover or a nation of thoughts against your soul?
Did you ever drop a tear from the clouds of premeditated regrets? I know some days the weather relates to our true emotions—so tell me, being a confined vessel, I know you love to gale thoghts and shine upon your looks—for fear the term ‘loser‘ would wear you a face to be seen by all.
But really, did those stormy thoughts ever break a tear from your skies? Did you cry?
Did thoughts build infantries, become voices and civil-war your feelings esteem? That you’d never do anything right? Did they drown you in the flood of your tears, pulling you deep with emotions beyond expressions?
Does it taste salty? Your fears, do they metamorphose into bartenders serving you a shot of your tears? Or do you love sugar? Do you love something sweet? How about a change?
Do you ever want to be truly free?
You can start by stop trying to be me. I am nobody, you are someone. I was once you, you don’t want to be me. You have a first name, and it’s not ‘loser‘.
Do you ever want to stop being affected by the thought of being called ‘loser‘? Whom it feel good to change garments and put away the past, stop being roommates with your regrets, and stop listening to those voices that have silenced yours?
You are not a lost, remember that.
from someone who truly cares,
Nobody.
We are Enigma Ink 