There was a man who can see clearly.
Both the sunshine and darkness.
“Cut my eye that sees darkness.
I want to see the sunshine more”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did…
The man immediately left
to fulfill his destiny to be happy.
To only see the sunshine.

There was a man who can hear clearly.
“Cut one ear that hears pain so I can
Hear the joy and laughter once more!”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did…
The man leaves as he hears
the Illusions of laughter and joy.
But the man doesn’t know the confusion
that lies.

There was a man who can speak.
“Sow my mouth closed! I don’t want
The lost voices to sneak out!”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did.

Then there was a boy
Who has one eye,
One ear,
And a sewn mouth.
He grabs a piece of paper.
He writes
“Give me an eye that sees darkness,
And ear to hear the sorrow that follows,
And cut my mouth open so I may speak out…”

“Why?” The Doctor replied.
Then the boy writes:

“If the truth hurts.
Then kindness must be a lie.
And if I sit there silently with these lies and Illusions,
What would that do if we don’t take the time to embrace
The pain and bitter memories that lies beneath me?
To speak out the truth of that false love and joy
that we fake ourselves to cover the heart that bleeds,
instead of treating it properly?

And at the same time…
How can I write poetry with these
angels of the shadows that sings mellow songs
and tells tales of hope that
lies in the forest roads to the unknown, doctor?”

I hold a box of tissues.
I try to clean up a mind filled with issues.
A heart filled with wounds.
Rooms filled with abuse that intrudes.
To tell you the truth, they can’t be removed.
Then I lose myself.
But instead of sitting and
crying with tissues in my hands.
I choose to write my issues through
poems filled with words and rhymes
like Dr. Seuss to tell the truth from a wounded soul.
These tissues will not be enough to solve my issues.

I drink this tea.
I lost the voice in me.
I feel empty.
I can barely speak.
I’m lonely in my mind.
I’m losing time.
I hear the voice becoming hungry, having anxiety yelling at me.
My mind Turns into a Heavenly Hell.
So I write poetry to **** the voice silently
From within.
While I’m drinking my tea to get the
voice of me back so I may speak again.

Your mind is a powerful place and
It can affect you in a powerful way
Depending on what you feed.
But it’s not always safe, see?
Your mind can leave you behind.
In a hurricane full of regrets and mistakes.
Your mind can throw you in a maze out of nowhere.
But what amazed me though is the fact that it can leave you
Threats.

See? Your mind is like a puppeteer
Controlling your thoughts and fears.
Sometimes you feel as if you’re floating off into
Space, and everyday you’re hoping it goes away.
Well actually…

Your mind can feed you anxiety, leading you
In a spiral of insanity of no hope.
Having the ability to shatter reality and
affecting you mentally.
Then you sit there silently because it won’t
Let go.

Then you look at yourself in the reflections,
aim at your direction,
and shoot your perception
With hate.

In fact come to think of it,
Let this sink in.
Your mind is like an act on stage
Because the things you might believe are not real.
I know that sounds strange.
Sure, you might feel as if you’re locked in a cage.
Can’t even stop yourself from reading the same page
Of the past, over and over again.
Sometimes you don’t know when to begin to love yourself.

But is that where we all struggle the most?

We create gods
not to make up a story
Or to build a group or a society or a greater city.
We create gods because
We don’t know why we really exist.
We’re scared of the possibility
that we exist just to exist without a reason to exist.
Maybe the only reason that life was created and that we only live
Is just because our only purpose is to be human,
and to be human is to be ourselves.
Makes me think though that when a God gives us love or hope,
It’s basically saying it’s the people that we think of the most, loves us
And was always there for us.
Maybe it’s someone we love is the spirit we look upon.
But who have I pray to all this time
if I’m the only person that feels lonely and lost?

Come to think of it, let this sink in…
We also create a story of how bitter memories shapes us
or how we’ve been that lost soul in the crossroads of no hope
throughout life itself based on strange characters we created throughout history.
You see, when you base on the devil himself that gives you hell,
You tell yourself that it’s the traumas that bring us down.
Our own self hate and anxiety trying to drown us into the dark abyss.
Making us not breathe.
But the only gods we can look upon are us.
We’re the ones to create these thoughts and choices.
Beliefs and crazy stories of ghosts and spirits that
Lies inside our minds
and to let go of the Dead that used to live in our own heads.
To tell people that you’re not alone in this world.

I think the only reason we really exist is to be human.
To think and create stories on our own perceptions
Of life and the beauty and ugliness of our moments to be human.
To express or feel the emotions of bitterness and hope throughout any art.
I’m not an atheist,
Nor a realist,
I’m an artist,
living the beauty and horror
Of the moments from my own perspectives
Of my own story
To be human.

There was a silent boy,
Who used to have a lot of joy in his heart.
Until he fell apart.
The boy’s emotions were toyed by the bitter moments.
Life destroying him little by little.
Problems yelling in his head,
Even though those negative thoughts should’ve been dead already.
But the silent boy still stands there silently…

I walked into a Mel’s diner on Santa Monica and Lincoln Blvd one time.
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon.
The gray clouds surround the diner.
Loud raindrops clashing the glass windows.
The lights of the cars and buildings shine a warm yellow bright light in the dark skies.
The cold breeze sends chills down my spine through my sweater.
As I entered into the diner with a warm air, welcoming my face and skin.
A smell of greasy burgers and fries being cooked by a chef,
who looks to be in his 40’s or older.
I hear groups of families talking and laughing.
A couple in their teens kissing and cuddling together against the window of the booth.
A Jukebox is playing a song called “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac in the back.
And there I see an old friend, Allan, sitting in one of the booths, drinking his coffee.
He was excited to talk to me since we haven’t seen each other in ages.
I met him, gave him a hug and sat down.
It’s been a while and something has reminded me of the things that hurts me.
But I try to smile through the ghosts of the past.
The ghosts of pain and sorrow.
“Rainy, isn’t it?” Allan replied.
“Yea…” I sighed, dripping wet.
We sat there for a bit and talked for what felt like hours.
Tried to catch up with our own lives.
The atmosphere however felt a bit awkward.
I started to lose myself in the distance.
His words becoming blurred in the back of my head.
My breath becoming heavy.
“You ok?” Allan worried.
“Yea…sorry-I didn’t mean to like…fade away.”
I said as my right hand is really shaking.
Sweating too.
He noticed and said
“It’s ok. What’s on your mind?”
Just then a waiter walks over
And refills my coffee but left Allan’s cup Empty.
“You good?” The waiter asked.
“Sorry but why didn’t you refill my friend’s cup of coffee?” I questioned.
The waiter looked confused and just stared at me for a solid minute.
Then walked away.
“What’s wrong?” Allan asked,
looking confused and concerned.
So…
I grab a pocket knife from my pocket
And gently put it on the sticky table of the diner.
“Please tell me why you have a pocket knife?” Allan asked.
His dark brown eyes looked down at the knife for a minute.
Then looks back at me.
“I don’t know.” I replied.
“Oh come on! Tell me!”
“Ok, fine…I keep it in case…if I ever wanted to go…”
“Go where?” Allan questioned with a look in his eyes.
“In case if I decide to wanna die, okay?”
The diner felt silent.
The coffee felt really cold but the room felt really hot.
Allan looks really worried and scared. As if he saw a ghost.
“Having the knife here helps show me that there’s a way out…”
“Why?” Allan asked once more.
“I DON’T KNOW, ALLAN! I DON’T KNOW!
I felt like I’ve lost hope in my life!
The bitter memories of you and me…
hurts me everyday.
I’ve cried every time but I try to hide it in the inside so you won’t see it.
After I’ve failed to be a great friend, I’ve hated myself…
I felt like every time I talk to you,
Or see you, I’d always think of those moments.
Then I start to sink through…
Life is just too **** hard and
you’re gone…
So it helps to know that there’s a way out…”
Tears start to flow down.
I felt like I’ve drowned in an ocean full of lost emotions.
I’ve gotten up and ran into the bathroom.
The light was grimy and dark.
My right hand is shaking in the worst way possible.
I look into the cracked mirror. I see myself, broken…
Then I see Allan behind me, worried.
“Hey…” Allan spoke, trying to comfort me.
We then sat on the bathroom floor.
I can see the crooked man in the mirror.
“I’d wished life has gotten better, but it has gotten bitter each time I’m alone.”
He then hugs me close as I began to cry.
“I know…and I’m sorry.
I’d wish it didn’t turned out how it happened.
Sometimes we feel vulnerable.
We struggle with the problems that occurs
out of nowhere and we crumble.
Hell, makes you feel uncomfortable because
you think of the painful regrets in your head that plays over and over.
Then it leads you into this.
This hateful self you feel because of what you can’t control.
But I want you to know this…
You are loved. You will always be.
And being alive today is the most strongest thing you can ever do!
Don’t let that crooked man **** you.”
He then grabs the pocket knife from his jacket.
“Can I keep this?” Allan requested.
“Y-yea…you can…It was yours anyways…”
I spoke quietly, trying to pull myself together.
“It’s ok, I will always be here.”
He said softly as he points at my shattered heart.
A few minutes later, I walked out and sat down.
“You okay?” A waiter asked.
“Yea..sorry” I said and handed $20 dollars
To the waiter and left Mel’s Diner.
I went outside across the street in the rain.
I saw Allan one more time in the yellow warm light of the window.
Then a truck passes by and I don’t see him anymore.
I hope he’s doing ok high up there.
I’m glad I get to say “hi” for the final time.