Do you think that in the skies above they speak of us?
Is Earth a playground for our helpless souls?
Does the almighty God tuck his children into bed at night
and tell them stories about us?
About the times we felt empty in full rooms
About the times our heart skipped a beat for another
to only have ourselves be skipped over
About the times our mothers told us we would amount to nothing
About the times our brothers taught us how to fight
I wonder about these moments we experience,
are they plot twists?
Strings pulled by the puppet master
Is my heartbreak someone's joke?
Is my success someone's thesis?
I'd love to believe this existence is meaningful
but some days the irony is suggesting
This may very well all just be a bedtime story for the Gods
A simple tale to them,
a heavy reality to me.
-Katarina Bučić
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