The gods, perhaps quite drunk,
were lost in their cups
the day my soul was conceived —
to craft a heart so earnest, so good,
then set it wandering
through the streets
of Misunderstood.

Just like Nina Simone,
I, too, am a soul
whose intentions are good —
yet I keep finding myself
swimming in the river
called Misunderstood.

So strangely blessed,
and quietly cursed —
to be born of double nature:
with passion and joy
that refuse to hide,
while on the other side
lie anxious thoughts
and sorrow, pride sometimes veiled,
sometimes standing tall.

At times, my pride
doesn’t know how or where to hide —
it stands too tall,
unafraid to be seen.
And then there are days
when all I do
is worry over
small, forgotten mistakes
I cannot undo.

Oh, to be a soul
whose intentions are pure,
just trying to live
in a world unsure —
trying so hard
not to be
misunderstood.

Just like Nina Simone,
I, too, am a soul
trying to survive
in this wicked world —
born to be soft,
yet taught to be bold.