one night
as I was laying on my bed
words keep on popping out in my head
like a lyrics of a song
that repeats without an end

i let it be
i let the letter, word, phrase
surround and trap me like a maze
but I was just there on my bed
my eyes open as if in a daze

i let the words bounce and jump
on my head, on my body
on my pillow, on my blanket
on my bed, in my room
on the ceiling, on the walls
faster, faster and faster

'til I can't take it anymore
so I get down my bed
pen and paper is what I get
to calm the words that bounces in my head

as i wrote everything down
it feels like I'm draining out
like a shoe that was worn out
and everything became calm
the calmness after the storm
like a very comforting psalm

so as the ink rests on the paper
and the words lay down on the sheet
i tucked all the phrases in
kissed them good night
as I finally get some good night's sleep

so that night
you'll see me sleeping silently
beside the paper with a resting poetry.

I am no Maria Clara
Nor the girl who can't even break a glass
Nor the princess of a kingdom
Nor the graceful dancer
Nor the sweet little girl
Nor the pretty, head turner type
Nor the lady who pours emotions
Nor the girl of your dreams

I am clumsy and awkward
And the girl who acts in a boyish manner
And the hunter of a forest
And the graceless explorer
And the tough intimidating girl
And the one who you would just passby
And the lady who builds walls around her
And the girl of your nightmares

So I wonder what you see in me.

*What did you see in me?

Cause I can't seem to find anything in myself.

he's a heartbreaker with the world at his fingertips,
he glows nonchalantly without trying,
he's devil-may-care, he laughs freely like cherubs
and his life is set out like a map,
the distance between us ever growing

and i am merely another flower in bloom
among a field of daisies,
i walk on pavements with my head down,
so adrift, a deer caught in the headlights,
and i'm always wishing i were somewhere else

but despite the differences of our universes, i wonder,
does he ever get lonely too?
does he still have time to stop and smell the flowers?
is there somebody he can talk to?
and does he think about what it is like
to live an ordinary life like mine?

perhaps on one cloudy day,
by chance, if the universe would allow,
an unlikely exchange could transpire—
he can hide from those flashing lights
and i can run from my worries,
and on a little bench where our disparate worlds will collide,
we can sit together
to simply talk and watch the world go by.