am i the only stalking other people's lives?
checking their whereabouts, current engagement - basically their life now
am i the only one restricting myself from doing so but only ending up from clicking that **** account.
that **** photo.
that **** profile.
why am i so curious about their lives to the point that i always have that tiny split of moment where i think nothing but just them?
am i envious? i don't know.
am i wishing them bad? ofcourse not.
am i somehow comparing myself? i guess? i think so?
you see, it's a look in the past that's still passed on to present.
and right now.
but now.
remember this time, september 11, at this **** moment - eveything's erased in my system.
nothing but only for my growth, well-being. basically all about me.

and to those reading this right now, we got this. once out of your sight, it'll be out of your mind.

focus on oneself. focus on your own life. focus on your dreams as you always did. don't even blink an eye.

To be an artist is to be free, free of my own thoughts and ideas
Free from other's expectation and standards
Free from everything except the artist itself, me
I carve, I paint, I draw, I create
To satisfy my mind and souls' desire
Artist conveys what's in their head
Artist express what's in their heart
Artist tries to build connection in between people's heart
Just like how chef prepares a dish
WIth thorough preference of smell, taste, and texture,
Artist prepares masterpiece to appease the eyes with perfect features
Life is like an art
With an artist giving color to one's life
An artist never doubts his own outlook
Artist uses it to be converted into book
A book, full of experience and emotion
A book, soon to be shared and unfolded to the nation
When an artist loses its way
Art will find you to make you stay
In silence, in chaos
It doesn't matter
As long as it's always what we choose.

Sacrifices,
Slumber less nights,
Caffeine-fueled days,
and unwanted bad weeks
Have become my strength
To keep me loaded and
decided.

Inside a garden
Of misleading wonders,
A rose so wondrous
With thorns are obvious.

It's painful and slow
But carry overtones to grow
Its petals bleed
But worthy to be someone's lead

Thorns protect flowers--
Just like teachers
Who protect us to fully bloom
And pass through tall wall looms.

You gave me a flower with
Thorns that make me cry,
Petals that I wish don't die,
Fragrance that makes me high,
Just how I heave a deep sigh,
I thank you for a memorable goodbye.

I heard your sighs,
when you knew about his lies.

Just like everybody,
I want to remember you
As part of my journey