The acrid, rather salty aroma surrounds
me, cloud of it invading my nostrils and tongue as the salty
liquid drips past my parched, cracked, lightly parted
lips as my throat is made hoarse by screaming
with all my might as we score the winning
Goal

Unseen
Unheard
Their eyes skip over mine
Their voices directed to others
Their ears only hearing others
I'm invisible
In the classroom
In the hallways
Outside
Inside
In the cafeteria
I'm invisible
And I'm really tired of blaming myself for it

There is a fundamental difference
between the peacock and the butterfly
Both are beautiful
Both are deserving
But when it comes down to it
One struts proudly
while the other...
quietly flutters away

They say...

it isn't about winning or losing
it's the sport
and the people who play it
But is it really?

Last year
was the worst

loosing half our team
to a discrimination scandal

how could they do that?
how could that say that about those people?

how could they be those people?
how could they get expelled?

how could they sabotage our team?
By doing such STUPID things?

We lost
No surprise there

A losing streak
till the end of the season

Even losing the title of champion
held several years in a row

...

This year
new freshman

faces shining
as ours had been years past

showing us weary downtrodden sophmores
the reason we played in the first place

not the winning
not even the people on the team

...

But the sport
our sport

we just defeated our long time rivals this year
and things are looking good

When you write a poem
It's your
thoughts
emotions
experiences
Once you share it
It becomes a chameleon
Changing itself
Not to camouflage and hide
But to be viewed by each reader
in a personal and individualistic
Manner

Is it better to write like you live
Or live like you write?

I used to write with words
Embodying my individual emotions
In splotches of paint
Now
I write with phrases
Stringing words together to paint a picture
No longer simply splatter paint
...
But a collage

You know it’s bad when
You start using “I hate myself”
As a way to say good morning

A dog
Waiting
For it’s owner
In my case
For more likes

It's scary when you realize
how much your self worth
is dependent on Others

There’s something interesting to notice
When one shares their poems
Out there
For one and all to see

There are certain patterns
Certain people

That read certain poetry

When I write short, sweet, to the point
Two lines
Or three

Certain people flock

When I write long
With depth, almost like a story

Others stalk

Then when I let out my inner cynic,
Try something new
Rant out my views

I get a whole nother crowd all together
Comprising sometimes, those from the former two as well

Some go for depressing,
Trying to find someone who matches
Their own soulful nature

Others would rather settle
For some lighthearted fun

And still yet more
Would choose something else

And I wonder how do you choose
How do you pick amongst the multitudes?
Do you even care?
Or is it what’s right in front of your eyes?

Perhaps it’s based on what you like to write?
What you’d like to do?
What you’d like to be?
Who you’d like to be?

Is there even an answer key?
Is there ever?

Why do I write poetry?
Is it to let it all out
Sometimes
A torrent of words
A hurricane of emotions
Other times
Simple lightly dusted sprinkles
On a cupcake
Free and airy
Yet,
Despite the medium
Through which my emotions
Words
Messages
Stories
Are conveyed
What is the purpose
And why only certain people?
Why not that person over there
Why doesn’t everyone write poetry
Why do people write poetry
What makes one a poet
And what makes a poet
Be a poet
I wonder

I am what
Sitting here
The essential paradox
To me at least
Since,
isn’t MY biggest concern of course
Me?

How much conscience must one lack to
**** a fictional character
But it’s not a matter of how much one lacks
Because to them,
The video game
Board game
Character
That lies in the figments of one’s thoughts
Is not living
Simply empty shells
With a name
Easy
Too easy to swipe off a board
To swipe off a screen

But then again,
Are they easy to erase because they are not living?

For, there are people in the profession of-
People who raise to slaughter-
People who make sport out of-
Animals
Specifically,
Their deaths
To raise, end, and eat
Wilder animals to catch
And place in a cage
Loss of freedom
Or loss of live
What kind of a choice is that?

So then, if not living
The
Line must be drawn at humans
Isn’t that the case?
But, isn’t it also true
That a human life can disappear at a simple,
...

I’m Me
Simply leaving
These two words
Seems
As if either denying
Or insisting the fact
Why
Do I do what I do
Is it because
I have a fantasy complex and believe each thing I do
Has some mysterious other purpose
A careless
Flick off he brush
In actuality is a piece of a
Masterpiece

Lips pursed
Blatant irritation
Eyes flickering, like little fireflies
Shining a spot light
On every little piece of dust
Remotely out of place
In my room

One would opt for ****** Doo and Agatha Christy
The other for cheesy romance Asian dramas and light novels
One would rather be building the sets
The other, on the stage
One cares nothing at all for other’s thoughts
The other cares too much
One wants to be a police woman
The other simply cannot choose
It shouldn’t be possible
Yet it is
And perhaps, it is their extreme differences that bring them together
That keeps them from clashing
Or,
Maybe something in their respective personalities finds solace in the other
Whatever the case
They are best friends

The first one
A bully
Keeping me on a leash
Under threat of abandonment

The second one left
Moved to another state
Robbing me even
Of the opportunity to be chosen
To cut his goodbye cake

The third one was too girly
Weak willed, too easily embarrassed and self conscious
One who’d rather
Be the star of a pretend fashion show
Than attempt dangerous and
Exciting escapades
In the playground

The fourth were a pair
But new schools
Different interest
New friends
New workloads
Made it difficult to keep up
And the relationship drifted away

The fifth were once again a pair
But, too caught up in each other
Until a falling out with one
And a lack of opportunities to see the other
And eventual conflict between the two
Shattered that relationship to a fragment of its former self

The sixth was too self obsessed
With too many problems of her own
Sleep deprivation
Prone to sicknesses
Struggling with classes
And a general lack of social awareness
And extreme denseness
And seriousness
Ended that too

And now, I’m on the seventh
We shall see how it goes
Thus far we are two completely different specimens of people
One would opt for ****** Doo and Agatha Christy
The other for cheesy romance Asian dramas and light novels
One would rather be building the sets
The other, on the stage
One cares nothing at all for other’s thoughts
The other cares too much
One wants to be a police woman
The other simply cannot choose
It shouldn’t be possible
Yet it is
And perhaps, it is our extreme differences that bring us together
That keeps us from clashing
Or,
Maybe something in our respective personalities find solace in the other
Whatever the case
I hope we last

Personally,
If I was forced
To consider every word
Every stroke of the brush
Every action
Every phrase
Everything
With meticulous consideration
I’d find it extremely stifling
...
Is that a problem?

Whe. I lift my head
To expel a breath in a long sigh
The cool air being moved by the fan
Causes my hair
Loose tangled strands,
To wave about
In a celebratory dance
Of relief
At last

I can easily play
With words
With meanings
Twist them around
Randomize
Sometimes gaining gold
Other times, dirt
But one to me
May be the other to others

Have you ever
Felt so sluggish
You think it probably for your skin
To melt and ooze off
And the muscle underneath starts to sizzle
And only the lonely bones remain
As hot as a metal rod laid out under the blistering sun
One would feel that
If he or she closed their eyes
They’d become a shapeless lump
To much of nothing to be anything
And eventually they’d just sink into the earthen floor
Eventually reaching the crust then core
Then being desintegrated
Into tiny particles
I could keep going
But I’m too tired to think anymore
Let em just close my eyes and...

Why should I?
I ask my insistent self
And instead of
Giving me some convincing reason
She says
Why should I?

It’s a coming
Not yet arrived
Seemingly soon
Yet out of reach
Only there for the journey
Chasing after an untouchable destination
Which begs the question
Are you there for the journey or
The destination?

I sit there alone;
in my cozy corner
nose buried deep in a book
But eyes occasionally peeping out,
to watch as they play;
it’s joyful faces;
far away.

A thousand worries
swarm my mind in an instant
A thousand warnings
ring the alarm
A thousand tingles
race up my spine
My stomach knots
my face burns
My mind unsuccessfully
tries to tamp it down
I grit my teeth,
Close my eyes...

Everything is so new,
so much better,
so much more interesting.
I want
to do everything
I want
to try everything
I want
to experience everything
For the time is now;
And I am ready.

I sit there,
with them,
No longer alone
IN
as they chatter
And when she asks me
I nod in agreement;
not really paying attention
A secret smile playing across the corner of my lips
Because I am IN

Should I
Let myself flow out
As raw and choppy as I am
Or take myself through a stencil
Perfectly shaped
But
No longer
Truly
Me

I’m short
Not super
But like average
The shortest
Of average
...
It’s still short