In this lonesome night am sitting awake...
With tension and stress creeping like snake...
I wonder if gods are awake to listen to my pain...
Seems each time I pray, it goes in vain...
Sometimes, I hear whispers in the rushing wind...
But it all comes down as drizzling rain...
Perhaps it's too much for gods to handle...
For once and all they to, cry seeing man's scandal...
Time and again I teach myself to be strong...
Not to break but push myself all along...
Now it's time for me to lay down and rest...
With open eyes I pray to be the best...
As this time shall never come again...
Of what I assume would obviously be the end...


©sim

“Why does she write poetry?”
“She must be in love...”
“I wonder who she’s writing about.”

My words are more
than mindless infatuation,
though they lend themselves
to this tendency.
For instance, I wrote this
in less that 5 minutes,
because “love” isn’t the only
motivation to my poetry.
Don’t underestimate
the intention of my inspiration.

I trusted you.
I trusted that even if I let go of your hand,
you'd never let go of mine.

I trusted you.
I trusted that you would listen to understand,
not listen only to retaliate.

I trusted you.
I trusted that you were my go to person,
not the one who had to walk away from me.

I trusted you.
I trusted that you would argue until it's fixed,
not punish me with silence and distance.

I trusted you.
I trusted that you would stay with me,
not walk out of the house and not come back.

I trusted you.
I trusted that you would come back wanting me,
not back only coz I asked you to return.

I trusted you.
I trusted that you want me even through this,
not just be with me coz you have to.

I trusted you.
I trusted that you love and care for me,
not just said so and still had the courage to walk out.

I trusted you.
or maybe that wasn't trust.

Perhaps...

I assumed you.
I assumed that you'd hold my hand,
even if I'd let go.

I assumed that you listen and understand me,
even if you're only going to retaliate.

I assumed that you were my go to person,
even if you wanted to walk away from me.

I assumed that you would argue until it's fixed,
even if silence and distance were mere threats.

I assumed that you would stay with me,
even if you wanted to walk out and not come back.

I assumed that you would come back wanting me,
even if you would only return coz I'd have asked.

I assumed that you want me even through this,
even if you were only being with me coz you had to.

I assumed that you loved and cared for me,
even if you had the courage to walk out.

I assumed you. And thought I'd trusted you.

Coz isn't that what you do,
when you love and think you really know someone?
Trust them and assume them?

Maybe that's where I went wrong.

I should've trusted you for who you are.
Or assumed differently.

Maybe I should learn the difference between the two.
Maybe I should learn to love better.

Maybe I should...

The worst
Place to be
On a battle field,
Is taking cover
From the man
Firing at you with
Blank rounds.

The reality you feel
Is the illusion your insecurities have fed you.
The observations made become your assumptions
That destroy the beauty of the unknown.
The words you choke on
Distort truth to lies.

Then your silence feeds your fears
Until your heart begins to fill with doubt.
The possibilities dissipitate
Sabotaged any friendship, any hope, any adventure, any future.
Convinced by the anxiety that warps your mind,
You close yourself.

There's no way back through the twisted silence and physical separation.

Ruined.

Sewer stained,
The street, the pavement an so to
Soak the shoes
Born torment twice and a recurring
Tap upon back;
This slipper, a signature
Succumbed suicide,
Slaughter,
An only sorrow
But lash shared millions,
To tread paths beyond barbed
And a sooner return to my
Land, or its maker –
Wards and shop,
Sweat under, sweat atop
And browed, be the animosity
As I swagger my way through
Haizhu's faceless crowd.

This is the assumption of Arcadia.

Or so she’s said and she’s right
As I witness the
Hunched backs, sea pearls
Stained-bowl rice, bow-legged dreams,
The denizens
And if only to stagger,
Come 12 more hours to shelter,
Simply shelter
And a dread named, “day,” come ‘morrow.
It’s real, as real as the sun’s rising,
As real the sun’s sweating
And as real as the sun’s setting.
So onward they go, meager and dollar
Driven, under whip and promised avarice
So that as guilty as I may be;
I’ll still buy, you will too,
He will too and she will too;
We’ll buy and assume our “Arcadia.”