Trend Of Me

"Trend of Me"

By a tired soul who finally chose to speak his own language

Not in fashion, not in line,

Same old station, same old time.

Work and taxes, scrolling feeds,

Fastest fingers plant the seeds.

Every hour — someone new,

Yesterday's king is now old news.

I miss the silence in the noise,

I miss my voice, I miss my choice.

So I resign from keeping pace,

With every fleeting viral face.

I'm starting up a brand new creed:

A trend of me, and only me.

I love, I lie, I read, I sleep,

I sow what I alone will reap.

The crowd may run, the screen may scream —

But I remain inside my dream.

Today it's denim, then it's lace,

A thousand trends, no single face.

Smooth aesthetics, plastic cheer,

But no one asks, "What do you fear?"

I don't belong to pop-up waves,

Nor to the hollow words they crave.

I'll wear my soul without a frame,

Unknown, unseen, and still the same.

Dali painted me a passport,

Stamped with "Nowhere. Yet arrived."

I stepped inside a glassy fort,

Where time itself could not survive.

And I just laughed — a real, slow laugh,

The kind that tears the paint in half.

Yes, I resign from keeping pace,

With every fleeting viral face.

I'm building slow, with no decree —

A trend of me, eternally.

I breathe, I burn, I break, I mend,

I start where algorithms end.

No filter left, no mask, no plea —

Just raw and wide, the trend of me.

So let them chase the shape of smoke…

I'll sit and watch the ashes dance.

If I must be a trend —

Then let it be…

A chance.