Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Dear Drearily Burdened Soul,
I want you to know
That every time you cry,
Each tear has the power
To pierce
Through every fiber of my being.
And I know it's hard.
I know it takes every ounce of you
to muster up that smile.
But every time you do,
Let me tell you
Those broken fibers
Mend
Like friendship bracelets
Intertwined.
And I am whole again.
I've watched the world
Entangle
Everything I love
Into a changing embrace.
And I only hope that
One day,
It
S t o p s
My night was spent glaring at the stars
And at how they shine despite
The darkness that surrounds them.
I wonder if the stars ever envy the moon,
If they feel the need to shine
Brighter.
Or if they feel that they're good enough.
I hope they delight in the fact that they
Twinkle
Unlike any other.
Not even the moon.
And I wonder if the moon ever looks at the stars
And wishes on them to be like the sun.
I hope it basks in its talent
To rule over the night
Unlike any other.
Not even the sun.

I wonder if the stars envy the moon
And the moon envies the sun
And I hope they don't waste their sparkle
On wanting to be each other.
One gigantic chunk of metaphor
Eyes of fear,
Mouth of shock
Because I never saw it coming.
To the arena I return again,
My darkest horror already starting.
To my left,
I turn to see my mother,
Trying not to sob,
As I rethink the memories
I always had during summers
At the Hob.
Eyes wet,
Arms tired,
Barging through the door,
While picturing the future
And all the madness that's in store.
Gale and Prim,
My only treasures,
Are soon to say goodbye.
For this year in the Quarter Quell,
No more will there be a tie.
I'm deep in thought
As I review the words
For my last farewell,
When I realize a secret for Haymitch
That I can't wait to tell.
To protect Peeta
In this terrifying Quell
Is my one and only goal,
For I want him to come back to it
And live peacefully
In this district of coal.

To be strong is what I think of
While under the stars I lay.

To be strong
The only solution
For I am the Mockingjay.
I find this while looking through my 2011 notes. Quite timely, with Catching Fire showing in cinemas and all. I was and still am an avid fan, both of poetry and The Hunger Games. My style has evolved but it's nice to see that poetry has always somehow been a part of me.
The night brings forth something beautiful.
Bamboo trees sway with the wind,
The lightbulbs have been dimmed,
But the moon comes to life
Saying
"It's my time to shine"
And while others
Are locked up in their blankets,
I have rocked up in their gentle
And their not so gentle,
Snores.
The television
Is no longer humming with static
But instead the sound of crickets
Fills my ears with a buzz far better.
The curtains
Have long been pulled down
As if to keep out any more of the
Darkness.
My bed
Inspires clouds of thought.
Suddenly,
Fish can fly
And birds can swim
And I am with you
And you are with me
And unlike in the mornings,
we are happy.

The moment my eye lids flap open,
When the curtains have been pulled up,
When the moon has gone back into hiding,
When the snores are replaced with laughter,
And the crickets no longer buzz,
I cannot wait to say good night again.
1 am is poetry hour, I guess.
Somewhere in the darkest corners
Of a speck of land
Shadowed on a world map,
There is a girl who still believes in wonder.

She is childlike faith vacuum sealed
In pint-sized hope
A revolution craving to be lit up,
A breath of fresh air to anyone who has lived through dirt and pollution,
A livewire of well-kept new ideas.

She is a book.
A good one but a closed one.
A book that sits on the front shelves at bookstores
But nobody dared to read between her lines.

But other than the galaxies of impossibilities she has sketched up in her head,
She is nothing more than short of perfection,
Small
Flawed
Misunderstood
But
Her hopeful whispers needed a microphone.

She believes in the hustle and bustle of success in her little speck of land
Impossible, it may seem
as she IS a speck
in a sliver of land
in a country that is almost always forgotten by anyone who has browsed through a map,
Disregarded by other countries
Abandoned by its own people
But forget the size on a scale of the earth.
Little as she is,
to her, her speck of land is big enough
Big enough to fill with all the love a person is capable of.
Big enough to fill with hands that held each other tight enough to be called unity
Big enough to be filled with more confidence in the country
than pride in personality.
In fact, the word "big" is too little
To describe the way she sees things.

She believes in herself
But she also believes that she is small.
And insanely enough, she believes she can be both
That her individuality for a stand out country
Could not be limited by
A weak immune system
Or the amount of inches she grows in a year
Or the color of her hair.

Yes, when the world gets tough,
And when everything larger
Turns against her
Pressing her into a cage of painful pressure,
She helps herself
By sticking her hand out for the very people who make her weak.
Because courage turns into cowardice
If it is not used to stand up for others.

And though she is small,
That only means she could make her way through
The narrow roads
In a tricky path called life.
Bending when branches of trouble swept above her,
Crouching when the rain poured,
And slipping into deep spaces.

But more importantly,
Overpowering all her beliefs,
She believes in something higher,
In something much stronger than the strength of her imagination,
In something that could turn her plans into a reality,
And the best part of it all is that this "higher force"
Is a He
And He believes in her
Much more than she believes in Him.
She holds her plans for this country in a teapot,
But He is the One who pours it over us
Until this cup, this country, overflows.

She believes this country is ready.
And as for Him, well,
So does He.

But no matter how wondrous she makes the future of this country seem,
We are still everything she didn't say we would be.
So, scavenge your heart for the truth,
Dig around for treasure and hope,
Seek high and low for even the little shards of faith,
Because one day,
We might just find her
In you and in me.
"How can young Filipino Christians demonstrate leadership and contribute to nation building?"

This poem was my answer in the finals of my school's spoken word poetry competition.
We are unlike the rest.
Yes, I know that's what the rest say.
But unlike the rest, we are not glued together.
Instead, we are stitched together.
Stitched so that every string
Is smoother than the furrow
Of bitter eyebrows.
Stitched so that if one of us wanders off,
It would only take the tug of a string
To bring us back together.

Unlike the rest, we are a medley of forgiveness.
Because with us,
Mistakes come in a handful,
Each painted a different color of disappointment.
But it only takes
Jumps into pools fully clothed,
Random trips to the museum,
Hangout on rooftops
To make it all better again

Unlike the rest, we are craziness
Well-mixed with a spoonful of loyalty.
An odd mix, enough to taste the sweet
Amidst the sour
So that insults come easy
But if one of us trips on nothing,
The rest of us will follow to help you back up.
After laughing, of course

Unlike the rest, we aren't actually friends.
There should be a word
For people who care out of understanding,
Who laugh outside things that are funny,
Who will be there even when they physically aren't

We are not like the rest because the rest call us friends.

And they say friends are forever
But we are the people who beg for much longer.
Apparently, it's national best friends day. This is dedicated to the people who are much more than friends to me.
Next page