I need someone
to excavate this sediment layer of bitterness
in my heart
Oct 16, 2023
Oct 16, 2023 at 11:28 AM UTC
It was almost a birthmark, a death sentence embossed on the deepest crevice on her heart. Grace had always known that the noble blood fleshed her existence. In return of power and glory, she must wear the brightest crown which will light the horizons to a warm shade of amber. That someday she would rise together with the sun and cradle the stars with this invigorating honor.
The princess fancied the notion of becoming next queen for its promised delight as other royals often tell her. Every time she shut death to birthday candles, it was all that she wished from the watching gods above. To be the perfect heir, the ideal ruler, and especially, the greatest candidate for the crown.
From the gardens waved the precocious white bloom of calla lilies. The clouds were a dash of milk frozen from the never ending stretch of blue. Faint chirps of birds echoed around the towers. On the palace ground, Grace acquired skills of a squire, for it was written through time she would defend this very castle in her hands. Days were occupied with lessons and lunches, meetings with lords and charities. She was a lady of compassion, inherited the old queen’s discipline and sophistication. The townspeople loved her greatly. They cherished her like a living ornament caught in a sea of the unlikely. A depiction of a good woman whose soul was constructed to comply with the rules and duties she is given. Accustomed from the expectations, the princess endures hardships, turning predicaments into something magnificent. The entire kingdom was pleased. And only then, the exploring winds tell otherwise.
Nobody knew Grace wanted to dance. There was this rhythm of renaissance enough to make her pointe shoes swoon across the dungeon room, her shadow--the audience. Instead of being entertained by minstrels, she would prefer the empty theater which she calls home whenever the sun sinks a sudden thought of change. Or that one time she secretly headed for the woods, not far from the stream, and put on a show for the skeletal trees to applaud to. A perfect piece of broken melody. That is what she all was. Her desires transformed into a banquet she must not feast on.
Because she is everything the crown is not.
A young amateur star, an artist of fascination, and a dreamer of the unknown. Perhaps, these were enough reasons why she became a magnet for chaos and everlasting detriments. It murdered her during the day-- kissed her a goodnight. The almond eyes that sync with her cinnamon tea, swirling in brown, blinked briny tears. From withstanding the pain, sustaining the hold, even though the harsh fate made its call. The only concept which drove her far is everyone’s acceptance.
But who could she be really? A figment on the stage? If at each glide the eyes foresee her as a rebel, much to her chagrin, who would look at her then? If the depth of the ocean has been buried within her voice, to everyone’s astonishment, who would listen to her anyways? What if she does not fulfill the responsibility which the kingdom predetermined for her, approved of her? Who would love Grace?
She built an empire so high, she cannot climb down her own stairs.
The message of the wind sounded like a terrible lullaby. It was too venomous for her dilemma. Because until this moment, this scenery, this pronounced living, she never stop hoping that one day, she will no longer be a stranger to herself. When the archbishop lifted the crown from the velvet cushion, the stones shimmered its vow as the brightest. The Queen’s authority shined through all of them. Before she sheds a tear, it already settled on her head, delicate and ethereal, faultless. Grace realized she spent most of her life fitting the crown which does not belong to her in any form.
No! She is not going to mourn another morning, nor sleep the night with a heavy heart. Fear might threatened to slit her throat, but she was not having it! The princess unveiled her mask and hurled the kingdom’s crown beyond the assembly.
“What a disgrace!” They thundered.
The formation of her identity is what stunned the people. None of them expected such disaster to occur, due to this, her royal majesty has sent all white horses in search of the beloved child. Nowhere to be found, her linen dresses flickered in fire while the crowd stared in horror. And she was nothing, but a forgotten soul.
Trees were once again clothed in green after the icy blaze of winter. The princess raced through the minty grasses and drank the enchanting smell of lilac, almost like a doe playing in the wild. She felt light as a feather, dancing in joyful exuberance. Other girls joined her below the white sunshine as they twirled and sang. It was the perfect moment to reveal the blind side buried for so many times. The blood that once dripped in the glass of her ill-reflection began to fill the rims of imperfection. Luminescence was so brilliant she had to squint to see.
The brightest crown anyone can wear is to be their true selves. No matter who you were born to, or where you live, despite the obstacles, and consequences. It does not make you less of a person, for you already are complete.
She was not a disgrace. It is still Grace after all.
THIS GRACE…
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 6:44 PM UTC
She belonged to the
cellar of my secrets
I constantly think
about her
and get lost on the
fresh wine beside me
Cause still,
after all
She was
my
safe haven
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 12:09 AM UTC
On a layered crisp of sunlight
I saw her changing
Under the waltz of everlasting orange
She began to wither
Piece by piece
- unspoken mood
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:21 AM UTC
What if we run out of sadness?
Will our inks turn white from
such happiness?
Can we handle the quiet trees, same empty sun,
and plain ocean?
Yes, I wanted to live
But also exist with this
beautiful world I can call mine
Where the rain has enough rage
to burn emotions sarcastically
Where the lonely people has found their autobiographies
I'm crazy enough to return
to my beautiful demons
Although reality is a
scheme of whitegold
Nothing can beat those seven colors in each word
flowing from a black penned ink
Stop calling me sad
Stop calling me weak
Because if I snap
both fingers,
there's no doubt
You will sink
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
they ****** the venom out
with teeth impaled
on my neck
the butterflies that fluttered
in my chest
were actually moths
finding a permanent nest
i lost the growl
in my voice
the silence between my hurt
i finally learned
to fly
without the help of the
sad moon
neither the shout of
crimson red,
bathing under the
beautiful suit
but all at once
i ran out of rhyme
as i gained
the real paradise
i deserve
i threw the world of mine
i threw the world
untold
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
When i stroke my pen
to write this,
I wonder if you imagined
that i'm a poet
As i wake from another
disbanded sunrise,
I wonder if you screamed
me out of this pessimistic vision
Everytime i would pedal
my bike during the hot summer,
I still think if i ever breathed
the air that evaded your lips
and while i do that,
Each time you make coffee
for the weekends,
I wonder if you guessed that someday you will have to share it
with a familiar person
of the future
Whenever the eyes cry salty tears,
have you sailed your deepest
thoughts on a paperboat?
Like finding me in the ends
of the world after the
midst of calamities
I guessed both of us may wonder,
in a sea of strangers
at a broken
streetlight,
Will we recognize
each other?
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
we meet again
in this stubborn lighting
your reticence
is what threatens me
the card
you are holding,
what is it?
a bestowal of gift
or just
another betrayal
either way,
we're better as
individuals
you crossed my path
in an empty highway
my thoughts
had gone
malnourished
from your voice
i'll eventually obey
why do i need to
please you?
why do i need to
play?
yes i want you
the skies
are pastel gray
i prevent converging
so you slide
pass me
both quiet
as tumbleweeds
i can't say that
it's an
act of heroism
to preserve what is
left in me
facing you even
is a foolish bravery
when i always knew
i'd already lose
to those eyes
made of copper
to a soul filled
with wonders
as you
walk from behind,
despair
kidnapped me
the card i'm holding
you know
what it holds
i can't believe
my heart is
tattered
and sold
you know
my weakness
you know
my game
you
know
me
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
the day is envy
whenever
it sinks a
sudden thought
of you and the
evil nights
making out
without
it ever
deserving
you
the day is jealous
because
it does its best
to light
your tears
and still ending
up with
the dark
grimace
of the
moon
the day is anguished
upon seeing
you happy
to all the lies
the night
casts
upon your
pretty
pretty face
iam the broken daylight
you chose
to abandon
for the ugly
side of the
moon
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC