Don't worry
All your troubles
it's all for the best
It's a simple test for you
and at the end you'll get a gift
So be calm
So be calm
Everything will be fine
Everything will be fine

You threw the girl
car broke down
A house burned down
Dont worry
You have your life
And this is simple test,
but in the end you'll get a gift
So be calm
So be calm
Everything will be fine
Everything will be fine
Everything will be fine


0?.05.16

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

When we were small,
Our parents want us to talk.
When we can talk,
Our parents want us to walk.
Today when we are walking,
We could feel the breeze.
Walk by the road, there's no peace exist.

When we could feel and see,
The world is all about pain.
That's time we realize that people only act like "saint".
When our parents dead,
We could feel the "bang".
Along by the pain,
They attack us like dark shadow fang.

There's no doubt without doubting,
There's no satisfactions without trying,
And there's no pains without causing.
We kept drowning by the "dark" pleasure,
Because the "dark" pleasure is more pleasure
While the slave praise "them" and forget their sins,
All the poor people keep stitching and defending.

Today,  I barely can enjoy the rain.
Yes I hope I can turn back time and become kids again,
Too much shadow and pains I received today,
Most of it from the one i believed nowadays.

Sooner or later it gets to you,
All the I love you,
All the I miss you,
All the I need you,

Sooner or later it gets to you,
Sleeping in late,
conversations delayed,
Don't go out,
Don't...

Sooner or later,
It gets to you,
Depression catches up.

they tell me
i am so good
with words
that they melt
right onto the page
from my mouth

yet why is it

every time i
open my mouth
i never know the
right thing to say
or the right things to feel

i am trying to guess
what everyone
wants to hear
to give them
what they want

yet i never seem
to be successful enough
at that

only with a pen and paper
am i enough
because i am just me
not what everyone
wants me to be

and there are
7 billion people
in this world of ours

and yet
i ache
because i feel
so very alone

i suppose
deep down
i deserve it
for reasons i don't know

"what do you want to do?" they ask,
looking for doctor, architect, lawyer.

i'm silent for a moment.

of course, i know what i want to do.
i've known for years.

but it's so hard to express my truth
when i know i'll be met with ridicule.

"i want to be a poet." i say.

they smile and call me a dreamer.
they commend my ambition and creativity.
their eyes scream j u d g e m e n t.

"what do you want to go to college for?" they try again,
hoping to get a better answer.
one that's more acceptable to society.

"well," i say, "i would love to take a creative writing class."

they raise their eyebrows.
that was not the answer they wanted.

"i just want to live my life through experience,
writing about everything i feel.
it's my greatest passion and my one true love.
i truly believe i have a gift." i add,
hoping they understand i'm serious.

i want them to know how hard i'm willing to work
to make this dream come true,
because fewer things are more attractive to an adult
as a teenager who is committed to a certain path in life.

"okay, mrs. poet,
what are you going to do to pay the bills?"

they really think they got me this time,
believing that all kids ever want is incredible amounts of money
and gadgets they'll never use.

but poets aren't shallow.

i chuckle at their attempt to stereotype me.
poetry is my end and my beginning,
what gives me joy.

so, yes,
poetry is a career.