Life to me is a game. The day your parents give birth to you, your attributes, looks, social status are given. As you get older, you realize that each and everything matters to you. Money, education, relationships, your emotional well-being. So you try your best to gain recognition and appreciation. Basically like those game achievements. Each choice leads to a certain consequence. It’s up to you to decide on creating a better character or remain the same. In the end, the game (our existence) will come to it’s final chapter. It will be passed on to many generations. Hopefully the existing files (your kids, if you plan on making them) will keep you not only in their minds, but in their hard drives (hearts). If there is an afterlife, I hope we will rest in peace and see each other there.
Sharp sighs and the smell of coffee,
It filled the cold morning air
Of my small room in the apartment.
Grey filled the shadows of my face,
As I hugged myself on the spring bed.
I hadn't been feeling well that morning.
Maybe it was because the old woman
That lived beside me was smoking,
Slowly filling her apartment with tobacco
Instead of cats that meowed gently.
I didn't feel like going out.
Maybe it was because room 7 was open
And out came the strong figure of a man;
A man that'd left his children and wife
I was scared that I'd hear the sobs
Of his little young'uns and his wife
Again for the 5th time, and I'd break.
I didn't want to open my blinds.
Perhaps it was because my apartment was right across room 10,
Housed by a lone boy in his teens.
And maybe if I had open my blinds,
I might have seen his blue glassy eyes
That sobbed for the warmth of
The childhood he had missed and lost.
I swear I heard him howl last night.
I didn't even bother to dress up.
I knew I wasn't going anywhere,
Especially when it was room 5's time,
To remove her dainty mask and honour the drunken sailor's days
By cussing out her only child
And leaving scars in his heart
That no amount of candy would fix.
Don't get me started on room 1.
Oh, room 1, a poète maudit.
There she lays all day in her gown,
Sipping coffee and listening to bicker,
Scooping ideas to weep on paper.
Room 1 had problems of her own,
But she wouldn't dare to confront them.
Not today, at least, room 1 was tired.
Nonetheless, today, room 1 was very observant.
It was a strange small apartment.
It specialized in crazed sane people,
People that didn't grow up too well.
People that weren't quite broken,
But weren't quite fixed either.
They were often cracking under
The own weight of their sins and flaws
But they managed to wake up everyday
And maybe.. Just maybe think
"Today, I'm going to fix myself."
Maybe tomorrow, the old lady would decide to get a bit of fresh air.
Maybe next week, room 7's door will close shut again and ooze with love.
Maybe next month, the kid would've decided to make use of his mouth
And scream "I've had enough!"
He'd bring his mother to tears -
Because that's what she wanted;
For him to stand up for himself.
Maybe next year, the young teen would pick up his school bag and live his life.
Maybe a month after that year, the poet would've shared a masterpiece.
Maybe by then we'd all have lived better lives and left the apartment.
But today was not the day.
Today nobody had thought to fix themselves.
Today everybody clung to this strange place.
i wish i had
i wish i would've
(why did i let you in?)
your finger tips,
they feel like daggers.
a song i would
never sing again.
it feels foreign
and suddenly i'm
in a strange place.
(you're not who i thought you were)
you used to shine
you were a star
in my sky.
the sun that lit
up my world
(i wish i could take it all back)
the time i woke up crying,
hellos and goodbyes.
i used to look forward
to the sight of that
on the corner
but i now look away.
I don't want to believe anything truly dies. The things we love, the people we love...we carry them with us regardless of how they wither away and leave us. Seasons pass and the petals on flowers shrivel up, the colors aren't as bright as they once were but I've thought in this state, flowers tell the most.
I have two flowers that I keep in a glass jar next to my bed. While their states of these two flowers may them alike, the stories they tell are different. The first was given to me by a boy I swear I wanted to love. I'm wondering if I'll ever reach a moment where the timing is "right." I hadn't seen him in more than a year and in a way, this was us meeting for the first time again. I'm easily pleased and this single flower lit my face up the same way a whole bouquet would. Holding on to this single flower from months ago may seem strange but to me, it represents the warmth and comfort a single person can provide you with. The reality is things don't always turn out the way you wish for them for them too...but I was thankful to have crossed paths with you. I have no problem taking a different turn on my journey if it means meeting you at the end of the road. The light you bring to my being will always shine.
There were bundles of roses placed on my grandfather's casket the day of his burial. I remember this day vividly and despite the daggers I feel in my chest when I think about it, I want to remember it forever. I've been able to come to terms with the death of my grandfather since March but the thing with grief is one moment it feels light like a feather and the next you feel yourself being suffocated by the weight of it. This single rose represents my sadness, my shaky knees and sweaty palms that day, the tears that have rolled down my face over again, and most of all, the last time I saw his face and held his hand. Holding the flower brings me back to that day. I still feel the pain so intensely but I am now able to smile, too. It's hard when the ones we love leave us. It doesn't feel fair but I'm realizing their presence will always linger. They're here and there with us, we just don't realize it. Being without the physical presence hurts but a spiritual presence can help our grief to feel a little less heavy.
To you, withered flowers may seem like something you'd throw in the trash and a thing to let go of but I hold on to them for the stories they tell, the emotions they keep within them. Life is full of metaphors and dying flowers are another one of those. I am reminded of the ways in which things and people don't actually die. They live on within us and the universe. Planting another flower may bring some joy to my life but the thorns of the flower that came before will still hurt me fro time to time. That's the beauty of life and its highs and lows, there will be thorns to cause hurt but there will be new beginnings that will bloom.
It all lives on with those withered flowers that lay in a glass jar by my bed side. I am unable to let go of some things and holding on to them assures me they will not die.
I don't think I'll ever love you but if you want the rain I'll be a thunderstorm
& if you prefer the warmer weather I'll burn so you can see the light of day
I'm not saying you'll ever be the one but I'm so used to all of these thoughts making me crazy
and with you I swear I never think at all
maybe I stopped believing in soulmates a while ago
but if there's such thing as bodies meant to dance and lips meant to touch
I think that's you and I
I haven’t been able to write about you, from the moment we met. I finally feel like I figured it out. You’re different. I don’t and I can’t find the words to write about our relationship or my feelings towards you, other than that you make me happy, but I can write about what you make me think. Our course of words takes me to places forgotten and new realizations and you encourage me to pursue and keep pursuing the things I love to do. To the boy next-door, I thank you.
All in the name of life, from the moment you catch your first breath of fresh air, that is then delivered all throughout your lungs, all in your muscles making its way to the power house; your brain. From that point on everything falls in place. You are immediately showered in love and affection. It may be overwhelming to you but you don't know what this is. To you, you see shapes, stretching their faces right up close to your face. But before all this, right when you were put on this earth... it was mute for a split second then all of a sudden all the immense sounds came rushing into your little compact head filling it up with little tingles in your ears bright lights in your face and from that point on you cried. Screamed, kicked, breathed; repeat. Until you were placed in the arms of an angel like person, the person who brought you into this world. A women who brought you warmth and safety from that point on. She cherished you and loved for you. She would go out of her way in any situation to make sure you came first. Holding your hand making sure you'd be okay. Years passed by and your first day of kindergarten is soon around the corner! You're riding the bus! Like a big kid. That night you and your mom picked everything out from clothes to extra bandaids in your backpack just incase you'd need any. She'd tuck you in and give you a extra big hug and give you millions of kisses on your cheeks. She gets ready to walk out and smiles one last time, it's an unsteady smile one holding back tears and happiness. Walks slowly back to her room and quietly shuts the door and faintly cries. It's as if se was looking at an old memory book. Reliving all the great memories she once had still holding onto. "Where'd all the time go" or "how'd he grow up so fast" is all that rushing throughout her head.
She was a perfect daughter well said,
And his dad was proud enough that day;
When she left her job,her dreams behind,
Just to getting married, with her dad choice...
She was really happy with her own place,
What she bought from her little money she could saved;
Only she knows how good it feels,
Being independent and doing all her needs...
After hours of discussion she actually failed,
To make his dad, understand all her traits;
It's her choice, not to get all comforts,
With his dad money, but to earn it first...
For her dad she deserved to be treated like queen,
This job is making her restless, what he has seen;
He barely understand the identity she will loose,
To follow the decision what he actually choose...
Finally she get married with her dad choice,
And she was a perfect daughter, everyone realized...
After so many days, she came home ,
Because of grand party his dad has thrown;
Her dad was listening what her husband said,
Wen sum one asked about his wife that day...
She is doing nothing but making home,
And then their normal conversation started going on,
In just a moment he realized what her daughter said,
It's not about the money but her identity she made....
Every night, I felt more alive
During the day, my bones crumble
My eyes hurt and muscles ache
I live for the my pen sketching lines
I entrust my passion with my skills
I never thought I could actually execute this?
There are times I party until collapsing
Funny how I fill myself with alcohol
but fall on my knees at two
I'm so young but ashamed of it
It's so hard for me to accept before
all these words that I should learn more
Six times a day I spent mourning
instead of motivating myself in the morning
At the table, they tell me what to do
But fuck, what should I do?
I feel myself fading from existence
Do I still have a chance?
I'm already twenty
And I'm still here sitting pretty.
Scary it is, I feel scared to find myself alone
unlike before where I enjoy being lone
My generation and the younger ones
Are far more notorious than what you think
I want to go somewhere I could call my own
A perfect place for me to settle down
but I could not imagine myself living in a mansion.
You might think I'm insane,
but my heart feels lonely between the stone walls
I spent my life looking for happiness
I was left nothing but expectations getting ripped
My life missed all the opportunities and second chances
I seek for what I should have rather felt.
My hands feel the unwanted fire seeping inside me
All these losing myself and stress gets me
I don't know why I am like this,
I get called weak by many
but I'm a hero of my story
I get called wicked by some
But shit, I am the all of it.
The nights I spent inking papers
I saw myself getting exhausted to achieve perfection
should I give up? I think I should
So I dropped my pen and pursued something else
I stood in front of strangers and led them
I listen to their voices, but I couldn't handle my own
My feet started to ran away from myself
I was darn afraid of my ghost
I saw my feet got bruised
I lost everything and got myself abused
I spent countless nights over my heart
who beats for uncertainties
but what a fool, I held tightly to it.
For once, my head thought my heart is my hero
It's hilarious seeing my weep to over a heroine
I thought and believed was mine,
I realized she belonged to herself
My body got wasted with no alcohol
Drained from lemons, I kept on getting
I feel like bursting everything out
but If I do, I will lose it again.
A day ago, I got a memo that I should get it
I should catch my superior's drift
That playroom does not fit my age anymore.
But my heart thought this was a perfect place?
Should I let my alter ego fall in peace?
I forgot I was not anymore young
But I'm still embarrassed
My mind caught the idea of drifting soon
I should retract everything and come back to my roots
because I couldn't stay in paradise forever
My face should not be shield by art
instead I should make myself my masterpiece
What the fuck have I been doing all my life?
I regret that I let myself lose everything.
The door's closed
I want myself getting hit
by harsh words to pull a new me
I never knew that anywhere is a paradise for me
If acceptance's stamped on my feet,
Morals and knowledge circulate harmoniously inside.
Keeping my head up is what I need,
To leave the paradise, I've been
The people who had lived and died
Will soon return to their lives
Carrying nothing on our backs
But memories of the place we will leave behind.