Slowly...
Slowly slowly creeping up the vine
How many ants will die in my lifetime?
How many crave the sun deep below the earth
And care nothing for the vine the mind is telling them to search?
Grapes grown over
Over over over
Crushing wooden posts and stealing sun from most
My watermelon plants.
How many questions circling uselessly...
And how many ants never get the chance
To see the end
Of a daunting, pointless task.

What is real, what is fake?
How should I handle this,
When you don't know what to believe ,
When you're reality breaks?

What you thought to be
Is so different from what actually is.
What you were taught about life ,
Now seems so different from what you see with your own eyes

Sometimes I want to stop thinking
I'm becoming afraid of my own mind,
It's potential for reasoning and overthinking
And always it goes down a dark path.

I just hope I can find answers,
Or maybe the answers aren't what I want.

Don't
You
Just
Want
To
Frolick
And
Play
in
a
Field
of
Wildflowers­.

2 days
In 2 days I've learnt to hold my nostrils closed not to cry and to spray the house with floral mist.
Nothing else.
I feel it in my bones I don't belong here.
Amongst the people that speak my own language.
They speak such dirt, in a way that angers me.
Makes me want to sell my language at an auction.
Anger.
My mom told she'll never let me walk the streets of my city alone.
That this ain't no place for me but she still brought me here telling me that there's no place I wouldn't blossom.
Wrong!
It's been two days and I'm already withering.
Waiting for the hot water that's never coming to fill up my bath I'm daydreaming about never being born here.
I'm afraid of speaking in public so I use any other language, making others speak for me, forcing my sister to not blow a word in the language she grew up with.
She doesn't understand and I'm sorry for making her to such thing.
She doesn't realise her sister's a coward who's afraid of her own words.
And mama.
Her accent always gives it away so I hide.
Rotting in between the boxes in my room and whisper strumming my guitar hoping it'll put me to sleep.
This is no home.
No place for me.
But I've learnt to hold my nose and to not cry.
I am no such killjoy to cry at the hope of others.
Such blind hope though, I'd say.
Switching from:
"we'll never have money again"
                       to
"you shouldn't be so cynical about coming back"
It's something I don't understand.
I'm so afraid ill lose this language.
That I frantically write and speak just to ensure myself I'm not losing my mind.
I can't find the right words and I can't seem to be able to speak properly.
I still seem to force a laugh or too ironically I feel like I programed myself to do such a thing.
Calling and talking to people far away but close to my heart just to make them laugh, telling them I'm in pain but laughing right after like it's just a split second of regret that'll go away.
I've gone back to lying.
I've never stopped lying.
**** me.
Stealing signs off the street and acting like a stranger.
That name was always meant for me.
A stranger to the world,
My family
My friends.
A stranger to myself.

Do we love pain?
Do we invite sadness into our lives because happiness can become so mundane.
Is the  existence of struggle embedded into our DNA just so we can feed our narcissistic urge to feel validated for our accomplishments as meaningless as they are because in the end we all die..

Three weeks ago
I didn't know you existed
now you're all I think about,
sitting here in my favorite spot
thinking about the feelings I've caught
realizing what would have happened,
if we never gave this a shot.
We'd continue our lives
moving on day by day
never even having conversations starting with "hey".
But that's how it all starts right?
with one single "hey",
maybe even a "how was your day?".
simple words
easy questions
the beginning to a whole new life lesson,
because living is about the things you experience,
the people you meet
and the words they speak.