What if the sun would rise in the west?
What if the discarded would be regarded as the best?
What if the fishes could fly so high?
What if the birds couldn't be seen in the sky?
What if the leaves of the trees were not so green?
What if the most exasperated age was not the teen?
What if animals could talk to us?
Speak different languages like a human does.
What if we would never ever die?
But I hope people would be extremely innocent and not so sly.
What if I were you and you were me?
Would you see the world the same way as I see?
Here I envisioned my downfall of a poet as here where it starts
As I can see myself in complete stress and lay my pen down
Let myself roam the streets and let the world burned before me
Yet I try not to look like I victimized by my thoughts here as
As they lead me to my decisions in life today but let me go deeper
My downfall as I can tears from the people’s heart I broken
My loved ones are starting to bruised and get wounds for my
Mistakes as I can see that every decision comes with a consequence
Where the benefits in my life? Where the memories in my past?
Oh that’s right there all covered by the hardships in my life but
Seeing my depression will lead me to numerous reasons to die
The hurtful truth that every time I see love in the making….
It’s just shatters and crumbles upon my feet so I stopped
My search as love is seen as overrated maybe I looking in
The wrong places and Love is underrated to everyone as
Poetry might just die in my heart or maybe my thoughts
Might just become rotted and converted to pure nonsense
Seeing no guidance to the golden gates or the flaming pits
But just pure nothingness, blackness, worthlessness as I wish
It been months I shown positivity and sense of hope at all so
As I look for answers in life, my purpose of my existence but
Yet I’m starting to give up on everything and just start to get
Fear and pity on me ever existing on this world as they could
Have made someone better as I didn’t do anything groundbreaking
As this will be the ending stages as I’ll die alone with no pursuit of happiness
As a person I’m looked upon with superior potential if I had “motivation”
Tell me what wrong doctor? As something must be wrong as I wish
Why I always thinking suicide? Only because I feel like I lose my identity
I only wished I had my motivation as I keep working harder and harder
But yet there are anyways complications and problems in my pathway in life
My wings of success are broken; my thoughts are rotting from restrictions
As my downfall will be gruesome and progress will be erased away in time
No remedies, no memories, no records, no accomplishments to follow by
That’s my downfall! Forgotten, uncared, and forbidden poetry to read by reader.
Somewhere in the past
Where I know what my wants
Even things were little too fast
At least I know it will last.
Somewhere in the present
Got confused and changing the mindset
Things becoming not meant
And a lot of expectations did not meet.
Somewhere in the future
A blurred image of myself
Wended on the road of life
Perpend to all of "that's why".
even if, someday,
when all semblance of real life vanished
and the meteors start wiping out
I know when and how
I’ll let my storms win
without losing its sense of setting
a heart from hell
is still a heart once loved
surviving through them
is yet another ******* thing
I tremble with dreams
I hate to dream
I could only feel a fraction of them
making my heart slowly tilt
every time I let myself loose,
simply with the stars
through a couple of busted things
life has thrown at me
and I’ll wrestle even more
till the day
I could finally sit and sink
with the birth of every star
and hear them say,
some thundering madness
and fathom them into
to welcome the newborns, shall we?"
we tend to cling our souls,
to the same kind of salvation
one that made our hearts flicker
and beat anxiously
one that stroked our pinpricked walls
with their assuring hands
the right shade of blue
the bitter truth remains
has never been
my best kind of caliber
I have homes in people,
and I tend to visit the past
a little too often
then struggled miserably over
such ungainly sadness
I might have always been the one
who loved more in the beginning
half of my heart still carries your name
like an open wound
that coils finely to yours
forgive every little inch
of the becoming and unbecoming of you
even if it’s hard
even if others can’t
self healing is something
God invites and lavishes upon us
to His welcoming hands
He, who knows
the sound of each of our hearts
would never render
multiple coats of heavy batter
to our souls
without knowing our true potentiality
we were fairly gifted with
I was almost halfway packing
every version of myself today
all the questionings
of my own enoughness,
of my own too-muchness
yet somehow, I’m back here
feet slapping the pavement, consciously
missing two passing trains by the subway
they can get a little too wild
spilling puddles of blue ink
musing over nights of
how I wouldn’t sleep the same
perhaps, not long since
people end up becoming like