Aug 2020
I’m sitting out on the stairs to the ninth floor, the cold breeze almost numbing my fingers but I don’t mind. I have the city skyline lit up in front of me, rolling out yellow stars on ground, unmatched to the sky of course.
I was born at an altitude much higher than this.
A city, yes, but up in the mountains with huge stretches of red flowers for company.
I remember clearly, waddling up to the balcony glass door, drawing patterns on the effects of my breath against the smooth cold glass.
Smoke wafts up from a source hidden by the balcony covering the stairway, here. Seventeen years later.
The same old buildings. The same old sky. The same old tarmac.
I’ve changed though.
I was borne into this beautiful disciplined country of conformities, but I’ve grown into something unruly. Rebellious. Independent. By thought, at least.
Although I feel so much, I take the view by the eyes of an observer.
Every second is a lesson, every breathe is unique in the way it teaches you life.
Ah, life, is it?
We’ve come to it again.
This smile on my lips ridicule the girl who burst into tears, saying she wished she could just stop thinking. What was it that pained her?
Maybe I’ll never know.
Borne in the mountains, I guess I have no choice but to reach for the skies. But first life took me down for dip in the coast for me to realize the roots that run through the blood in my veins. It was beautiful, realizing you have much of a past out before you, part of a picture bigger than this movie you see laid out before you with such sparkle and glitter.
Here I am out to write a poem, but instead my fingertips trace this, metaphorical of the typical way my life unravels.
Often you wonder, if you’ve uprooted roots while you’re still growing them, again and again and again, could you ever belong?
Maybe instead you learn to accept the world is a different shade for everyone, and some see shade in a combination too far and wide for anyone else to really put together. But yet.
The yearning is always there, for someone to laugh at the world for the same reasons you do.
We live for a greater cause, yes? Always constantly looking for that one thing in life that’ll fill your heart with the satisfaction of knowing your place in the world, and the confidence of leaving it for somewhere better. I mean, sure is flawed, this life, ain’t it?
We live looking for reason, and die, having found and fulfilled why.
Life is the coming together of so many precariously laid gentle strokes, surely, it marches to beat and rhythm?
I’ll stop now, my fingers have numbed.
Nov 2019
I was born at an altitude much higher than this.
A city, yes, but up in the mountains with huge stretches of red flowers for company.
I remember clearly, waddling up to the balcony glass door, drawing patterns on the effects of my breath against the smooth cold glass.
Smoke wafts up from a source hidden by the balcony covering the stairway, here. Seventeen years later.
The same old buildings. The same old sky. The same old tarmac.
I’ve changed though.
I was borne into this beautiful disciplined country of conformities, but I’ve grown into something unruly. Rebellious. Independent. By thought, at least.
Although I feel so much, I take the view by the eyes of an observer.
Every second is a lesson, every breathe is unique in the way it teaches you life.
Ah, life, is it?
We’ve come to it again.
This smile on my lips ridicule the girl who burst into tears, saying she wished she could just stop thinking. What was it that pained her?
Maybe I’ll never know.
Borne in the mountains, I guess I have no choice but to reach for the skies. But first life took me down for dip in the coast for me to realize the roots that run through the blood in my veins. It was beautiful, realizing you have much of a past out before you, part of a picture bigger than this movie you see laid out before you with such sparkle and glitter.
Here I am out to write a poem, but instead my fingertips trace this, metaphorical of the typical way my life unravels.
Often you wonder, if you’ve uprooted roots while you’re still growing them, again and again and again, could you ever belong?
Maybe instead you learn to accept the world is a different shade for everyone, and some see shade in a combination too far and wide for anyone else to really put together. But yet.
The yearning is always there, for someone to laugh at the world for the same reasons you do.
We live for a greater cause, yes? Always constantly looking for that one thing in life that’ll fill your heart with the satisfaction of knowing your place in the world, and the confidence of leaving it for somewhere better. I mean, sure is flawed, this life, ain’t it?
We live looking for reason, and die, having found and fulfilled why.
Life is the coming together of so many precariously laid gentle strokes, surely, it marches to beat and rhythm?
I’ll stop now, my fingers have numbed.
Nov 2019
