If I was lucky, some people would make up stories like I had a crush on him and He had a crush on me and We lived happily ever after.

But we all know that's not going to happen.

So I'm just going to crush the butterflies. **** them before they **** me.

Because let's be real,
He'll forget about me.
And I'll forget about him.

And I'll go on with my life,
Dragging down a list (+1) of men that happened to walk by.

I had a very comfortable lifestyle but I gave it away for happiness. When I was younger l thought happiness is a state of mind. I thought I'd find it embodied in success like a package deal. My only goal then was to be successful until I started asking myself, successful in what? Just when I couldn't formulate an answer, that's when I realized I wasn't genuinely happy.

I am clinging tight on this superficial feeling.
I caught a butterfly and I am keeping it for safekeeping.

It doesn't guarantee an eternal life,
of bliss,
of fruitfulness.
It doesn't even guarantee a year of existence.

But it gives me hope,
of joy, to welcome the day,
It gave me a reason for today.

-

Bitterness isn't just a state of mind.
Bitterness is another word for revenge.
One day, bitterness will consume me, and take over my world.

All the things I didn't do.
All the things that made me unhappy.
All the things that caged me, wrapped me, stopped me.
All the things that bounded me, forbidden me, limited me.

All the things that I should have done.
All the things that I should have taken.
All the things that I should have said.
All the things that I wanted.
All the things that made me happy.

Everything will come to me.
In bitterness.
At the end of time.
At the end of all things.

But before I die, I will take revenge.
I will take every little thing that consumed me, all that bitterness inside, pile them together, and burn it down to ashes.

And then I'll watch you watch me.
The fire reflected in your eyes, and I'll hear your thoughts before me.
Maybe I'll even let you join me.

I will set a bonfire.
And it will be the mark of my happiness.
It will be my revenge.

I'll take what's mine.
And discard this life I borrowed.

There's a thin line keeping my sanity together.
Over the years, it didn't break;
It didn't rust.
It remained intact for my own purposes.

And then all of a sudden, a piece of metal broke through it.
Its cold surface mocked me;
belittled me.

A reminder that even a thin piece of thread,
bound to surpass ages,
had a weakness.

A blade can cut through everything when it pleases.
And it cut through me,
slicing my personality in two,
dividing my soul in half.
The good and the bad,
separating itself from my body,
unable to be whole,

ever again.

He the moon.
She the stars.
And I found myself,
stargazing,
admiring.

He the moon.
I, the sun.
And she found herself,
co-existing,
waiting.

She the stars.
I, the sun.
And we found ourselves,
understanding,
reasoning.

He and she.
Moon and star.
They found themselves,
assessing,
longing.

Whilst I,
The sun
They found me,
accepting,
with blessing.

Many people have asked.
And I have turned down the same.
Many people wondered.
And I have ignored the same.

Ask the right questions dear, don't ask for the obvious.
Ask the right question, and I'd answer.

I am NOT an open book.
I hold more secrets than you know.

Ask yourself.
Do you know me?
Or have you known only the image I portray, or the character I play?
Have you wondered what's on my mind if I'm not talking?
Have you figured out the riddles I give you?

The problem with most people is that they weren't really looking.
Not really seeing.
Not really bothering to know why.
And for a few people who managed to "almost" get there fail to ask the right questions.

Don't ask the usual questions.
That will annoy me.
Don't ask for the obvious.
That would bore me.

If you want to get some answers, ask the right questions.

Let me know if you've figured it out.

I'll tell you EVERYTHING.

You've only seen what I allow you to see.
Filtered and remains the good side of me.

I've always been a vessel of hope.
But a part of me wishes to break free.
The part I don't want anyone to see.

I am not complaining.
In fact I never once complained.
I know I am loved. I know I am lucky.
It's just, sometimes, I get really really sad.

Stop this sadness, she said.
But right now can I just cower in darkness?
Tonight, let me be weak.
Let me lose hope.
Let me break down.

It won't take an hour, I promise.
Just leave me alone... for tonight.

I wish he can see my weaknesses without pointing it out.
I wish he can see me weak without letting me know.

That way, I can be strong and weak at the same time.
The person I am, and the person I want to be.

I wanted the perfect cake.
With the perfect layers.
With the perfect coating.
But all I got was a stack of it.
A stack of rejects.
Desperately coated to its most presentable.
At its most passable.

It began with the first layer.
After all, I was careful.
Less mistakes.
Less complications.
Less lies.

Braver, bolder,
I crafted the second layer.
More mistakes.
More complications.
More lies.

Annoyed,
I began the third layer.
More and more mistakes.
More and more complications.
More and more lies.

Desperate,
Came the fourth layer.
More and more and more mistakes.
More and more and more complications.
More and more and more lies.

The more I go forth.
The more frustrated I become.
The more layers.
The more lies.

What comes after the layer of cake?
Another layer.
What comes after a lie?
Another version of that same lie.

In the end,
All I'm left with is lost time.
And the gradual worsening of my problem.

Eventually,
I'll find this cake collapsing.
Reminding me that there are limits.
To the amount of tries.
To the amount of layers,
That I can make.

So,
I find myself getting rid of the cake.
In a dramatic scene I form in my head.

You know me,
I won't just get rid of the cake.
I'd get rid of the whole occasion.

You were so real I swear to God.

And so I write and write and write,
Until you become so fictitious and so unreal,
I have to stop believing.

That's how I get rid of love.

She climbed on stage anxiously
Blow of the wind bursting free
In every step meant for thee
She ought to handle perfectly

Roar of the crowd rushing wild
Knees trembling like that of a child
Applause blaring, surrounding the platform
Made her come back to the day she was born.

When all went well with a rhythmic tone
When in time she felt very much alone
The voice that came fresh from within
Turned her to this person so awfully mean

She grabbed that mic and made attempt
Compelling herself to explain what it meant
Uttering, she whispers on the wing
“Not all with the Voice, Sings”

Growing attached.
I'm not scared as much.
I'm just protecting myself.
Because everyone has left.

Everyone is too busy.
Drafting their own attachments.
Drowning on sentiments.
Hurting over the trivial.
Crying over the superficial.

Feeling so low you just want to disappear.
Along with the gust of wind.
Leaving without a trace.
Lement over the days.

So I distance from pain.
Not a speck to gain.
Out of me or ever again.

Unattached,
I blow all the flames.
So there's no one to blame.


Alternative: http://lilahgran.blogspot.com/2015/02/poem-unattached.html