Gypsy Part II, Lifted

This is a poem I wrote back in 2011.

"Relate, desecrate, crucify, justify. 
Hollow heart; forever beating.

Sorrow, forever my companion, 
blackest of black; sincere lies.

If I told you the truth, 
pain would be my virtue.

Suffer, bleed, suffer, cry. 
These tears are an eternity of who you are.

They forever burn my skin; 
a constant reminder of who I'll never be.

Fragile smile, fragile fear..." 
-Franco Mostert 13 February 2011 

Reading this poem now, I realised how much I have grown as person.

Although I will always consider myself a gypsy in the sense that I do not

conform and try to fit it, I have made peace with that, compared to a few

years ago, when I felt a gypsy meant being an outcast, odd and weird.

I am forever a gypsy, scars remind me just how I have come ;D