Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me.
With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day.
Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take.
I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag.
Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave.
Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath.
Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future.
At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex.
And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze.
I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner.
At 7:00 am  I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.  
7:30 am; I shower.
7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities.
7:50am; I  have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang.
8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold.
With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush.
9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me.  Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner.
4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs.
7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again.
8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break.
9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same.
10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity.
It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules.
It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow.
And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me .
I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine.
I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.

As a child I knew nothing
and needed even less,
content with being happy
but 'growing up' required me to digress.

I took life as a challenge
chose myself an aim,
let the goals laid out for me
become the rules of the game.

Years of living like this
distraction and reward,
suddenly I realised
I was cold, alone and bored.

My knuckles white and fingers raw
from trying to hold on,
to the rules I made as a child
but the reasons were long gone.

But whose choice is it
what I see, I want and need,
the thought that these are 'my' desires
could be called the root of greed.

So I spent years on this journey
back into my head,
to find the child I left behind
hoping he wasn't dead.

In a dream one night I found him
he laughed when he saw I forgot,
that logic was emotional
and that love was not.

So in ways I give back
what my fear took away,
to see as I grow stronger
there's nothing but today.

I know I am so monotonous
for always write a romantic poetry
with black ink on a plain white paper
I know I am so dull
to imagine you as my muse
to sing you a soft lullaby
when you are not even here

I know I am so pathetic
as a girl who fails at everything
as a girl who creates lots of mistakes and sins
as a girl who has not achieve anything
in her ****** - dark world

I know I am not enchanting
and I see your gorgeous smile
almost every night in my nightmare
and I see your misty eyes
almost everytime in my beautiful daydream
I know I am not beautiful
like the stars above tonight's sky
or like the small streams in a green field

but darling,
all I can think about is
making a lovely poetry for you,
composing flowing rhythms for you,
letting my fingers dance around my paintbrush
and painting every single thing on your face
in a smooth empty paper

and I am sorry for doing all of that
and I am sorry for thinking I have a chance
and I am sorry for dreaming of you as my stars
and I am sorry for hurting myself
with the thoughts of you in every minute of my life

My home is the whispering willow
where shade and rest can be found
a clump of grass, I use for a pillow
I make my bed right on the ground

my home is in the flowing stream
where the cool waters seem to heal
the sounds seem like i'm in a dream
but my senses tell me that it's real

my home is on the mountain top
where the squirrels and rabbits play
my natural life, I would never swap
I just can't see it any other way

I once knew a girl
who's worries only wandered
through fields of flowers
who's life was a bubble of happiness
that was indestructible
who's hero; her father

You are my father, you sat next to
me in the field and kissed
my cheek, you pushed me on the
wooden swing set
but then you ran away

I once knew a girl
who's worries turned into boys
and she became more concerned...
or more so obsessed with how much she weighed.
You could see her happiness slipping away.

You are my father
I damage myself to impress you.
Don't you see? Do you care?
I am your slave, tell me what to do.
I'll do anything.
Your opinion is the only one that matters.

I know a girl. She's lost. No longer is she
the girl who skipped though
fields of flowers.
No longer is she hopeful.
No longer is she happy.

You are my father.
You left me.
You left my family.
You were my hero.

I used to dream of a love like
yours and moms.

You destroyed me from
the inside out.
You were a man, a husband, a girls hero -

but not any longer.

I am an artist.
I can make myself into something new
every day.
Imagine the possibilities you could
innovate,
Just let me know what you want.
Here, flip through this magazine for some
ideas,
And tell me what you like best!
It’s all about pleasing your audience
anyways,
It doesn't matter what I want,
Nobody cares about that.
They just want to see something pretty.

I sculpt and paint imagery out of tools
To end up with a fake canvas.
Day to day I suppress myself with the lies.
I chip and chisel,
Dissect and carve,
Bits and pieces,
Until I’m left trembling,
Just to be tossed away in the end.

Splashes of red,
And strokes of black ignite your appeal,
And this is what you label as real?
Hunger strikes itself through the bones
Revealing its power through the limbs
Of the body, eye sockets, sinking down,
Down,
Down.
Death could possibly be the resemblance.

What a terrible piece, a shame it is.
Maybe just a few more tweaks,
And it will at least look halfway decent.

Trim down the sides,
Thin out any extras,
Fill in what is needed.
Even just a tad more color,
Then we have something.

Time strolls by,
A year soon passes,
And one day I just happen to actually
stop,
And look at my masterpiece,
But only for a moment.

In the mirror,
A reflection stares back at a wretched,
Ghostly,
Figure.
Beads of liquid build up into my pallid
eyes,
Unable to contain the weight of their
reasons any longer,
Tears begin to burst,
They trickle down my rose stained
cheeks,
Fueled by the absence of perfection,
And I feel nothing.

Needs more work.