My eyes always see the floor when I walk by
But my ears can still hear the mocking laughs
Fingers pointing at me
As though knives stabbing me repeatedly
Splitting my heart into halves
I still look in the mirror that doesn't lie
They have eyes, nose, lips, and everything
And so do I
Now, what's wrong with this face of mine?
The acne, freckles, pores, scars, and whatnot?
People can have it, who says they cannot?
"Too slim, too fat"
I am me, can't society accept that?
I asked the mirror that doesn't lie,
"I'm beautiful, aren't I?"

Sometimes,
I would like to rest my eyes;
take a deep breath;
enter my sarcophagi.
My happy time machine.

Awaiting for the time
where I
would find myself happy,
and only happy.

Gone of the days:
When I treat my lungs like a chimney.
When I poison myself up to my limit.
When I get hurt because of love.
And when I would gaze upon myself
in the mirror,
I would find myself,
to be the man that I wanted to be.

Wish.
I could only wish.
My time capsule seems to be busted.
It used to work,
but it is now rusted.
Exhausted.
Exhausted, of being exhausted.
Exhausted, of being myself.
Exhausted, of existing.
But with enough wishful thinking,
I think I would arrive at my destination.
Someday-----
I wish sunflowers never wilt.

Youth ran away toward the front,
  as death pursued from the rear

Catching me inside the paradoxical
  whipsaw of life

I stopped, as the boy continued into the distance,
  but the reaper stopped too

Wanting me to run some more,
  preferring to attack from behind

As I turned to face my stalker, his eyes went down;
  and his presence cast no shadow

He took two steps back, but I reached for his hand
  while saying:

         “Walk with me, keep up with me
          your job here still not finished
          The boy has indeed gone, but
          the man is not yet ready to go”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2017)