Envy
You live by your own world gasping for air to breathe.

You live by the choice you’ve made,
wandering everywhere, fulfilling every single wish of yours.

Standing by the corner of this space,

I envy you by far.


Seeing you laugh by the joke of others.

Seeing you smile by the people who colours up your life.

Seeing you envy others while i envy yours.

The path you walk along the isle,
i smell your lovely scent from behind.

I envy you by far.


You are lovely in your own ways.
Your actions speak louder than the word pretty. You’re pretty in every definition and you vanish all ambiguity that speak of others.

You are pretty and if i were to see more of you, i have to be breathing more than i usually do.
To calm myself, to convince myself that i can take such prettiness.
Because of all these, i envy you.

These things we wear,
sometimes feel like contraptions.
Restricting freedom but
providing protection.
So many ways and styles,
the possibilities are endless.
Through heat and cold
always an accessory,
even if they are not on our feet.
They go everywhere with us,
seeing even what we do not.

When I was young, my life was like music that was always getting louder
Everything moved me
A mother with her child
That made me feel so much
A homeless person sitting on the sidewalk holding out a ***** cup for some spare change
I could have cried over it
I did
A calendar that displayed the wrong month
The way the moon followed me everywhere I went
How an unmade bed looked like home
Where the smoke coming from the house across the street disappeared into the sky
Frost on the window of my mother's car
How the earth tirelessly orbited around the sun
The way the city lights looked from afar
I have spent my entire life learning to feel less
Every single day I feel less
Is that growing old?
Or something worse?
I suppose you cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness
But how do you balance yourself between the two without forgetting how to feel altogether?

I have to be the right words, not offensive nor too liberal.
I have to be the right filter, scanning everything that
I say and purifying all that I hear. I have to be the right pace,
following the rhythm of the world and forgetting I know how
to walk. I have to be the right mood, letting my emotions creep
through the cracks but not fully exposing them to the light.
To be the right chair and sit instead of stand. The rain to
calm the heat, the sun to warm the cold, the moon to shine
at night, the stars to guide you through. I'm supposed to be
so many things, I lost my way to being who I am.

The one thing that comes to us all
The one place we all go
The one we always try to cheat
But lose to nonetheless
The ultimate equalizer
Taking emperors and peasants alike
Yet on some, death bears down much too soon
Because only of hardships and torture
That has been inflicted by our own kinsmen
Pushing the breaking point of the spirit
Crushing all hope of a better, if any, future
Shoved to making the choice of harming oneself
Because of the idiocy of others
Ignorant fools who look down on others with contempt and hate
Since they do not match the conventions they made for themselves
And with jealousy at their ease of happiness
Making sure to crush them and their joy so as to assure they become as miserable as the others are
Deep in their hearts
All this leading to the culminating moment of pain
When it is no longer tolerable
And all the eyes see is death
Death, my friend
Death, my savior
Death, my hope
Death, my mercy
Death, my deliverance
Come to me, death
Give me my wings to go to somewhere better
This pain cannot be better than death
Death is quick, and ends all
Life is long, and ever-suffering
This is not how you must leave
This is not a fitting end to such a bright person
With such a loving heart
So give yourself a chance to a fitting end
And find an ear cocked to listen
Explain, relate
Even just in whispers
Let the demons come out as the words you speak and stay with us
In life

To Evan - I didn't know you very well but what I did know was someone worth being here now

What if my right was your wrong and
your wrong was my right? If we play pretend
words lost their meaning and these sentences
never began. What if you try to listen to my eyes
and feel what I shout, where making sense of my
life it's a comma where you stop move along but
without any doubt.  What if I take your happiness
and live it as my own, I know I've read this essay
but the pages keep going on. If you could realize
that I create my joy, the questions in your book
won't be handle like a toy. What if the lines you
write are backwards because that's all you know
yet one day you're forbidden to express your feelings
and thoughts. If you can't understand why you're
trying to be retrained, why can you tell me to be a
pencil when I've always been a pen?