It is a delicate balance between upset and anger,
A discreetly fragile emotion because it could tip you from totally in control to an unspeakable, quelled rage. Creating a cage Unspeakable because you cannot explain the feeling, You don't know why this bothers you and maybe you don't even know that it is there in the first place Then picks up the pace You only know that there's a speck of orange in your chest and The heat works up to your throat and head Making a bonfire instead But the flames stops short at the mouth, because You don't want to be angry. Annoyance balks at having a voice; There is no such choice- Leaves it choked in a ball, trapped, unable to be articulated, simmering, sad. L x
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I've never claimed to be good at poetry, and really I'm more of a prose girl. But sometimes the occasion will strike,
when something moves me deep inside which hasn't been moved in a long while. Today it appeared in the form of a glowing sunset. It starts off a luminescent orange from the left end, growing brighter even as day passed into night; nature's paradox Then melts into a faint pink, with the lightest touch (as if the sky could be fragile as an eggshell) It blends in with blue, the only kind of blue that could live within the sky and in a thousand different hues all at once I didn't take a picture, because for one I knew That Instagram would be flooded with them, me usually among the masses And I wanted to resist the urge to pin down such a beautiful sight to be condensed into a table of pixels Simply existing to remind me of a moment in a perfectly ordinary day. I just sat, and ate my grapes, and read my book, And thought about how sometimes you cannot keep a beautiful thing. You can only see it and love it, And when the time is up, when feeling is all there is left, You let it go. a repost from some time ago.The feeling creeps up on me insidiously,
Just when I think it's gone and I've finally vanquished it Battle after battle They open up like a can of worms and squirms First in my brain, then wriggle down down Pushing into the throat, touching my lungs finally pulsing into my heart. It's not Heinz but something a little dirtier called Not Good Enough. Or maybe, just Not Being Enough. To speak up in class, to be my own person, to be intelligent, to be less careless, to get a ( ) ....? So what am I good for? God tells me I'm good enough for Him. That I'm more than enough even. Maybe someday I'll believe it. L x A cycle I'm so familiar with it is now a routine.
The truth is I fall in love with a tiny bit of everyone I meet. Some days I wish I wasn't who I was. A Miss Honey who read too many books and watched too little TV and listened to too little music. A daydreamer who loses important things as if they were bobby pins and rides on other people's waves instead of creating her own. Who believes in a faith- the only truth- when half the time she prays she prays that her god is really listening and is up there, or down, or around, everywhere, anywhere, as long as he exists that is all she needs. I'm a story of a girl who meets people and wants a piece of what they are. A cut of heart I can hold in the palm of my hand, every time. L x Half the class is not here for PE. Whoever's left gathers round,
like yesterday's leftovers brought out to eat grudgingly I stand and watch as the boys take over, and I become shamefully invisible. Resentment and jealousy creep their way in and I'm lost in those thoughts. It's always a what if- what if I had different people, in a different place, in a different time? Anything better than this, surely? And- where is everyone? The noise in the void deck rises to an unbearable level, as if shrieking to be let in. It gets worse during Chemistry Just like you knew it would, especially when you have to see yourself, in the flesh, not understanding the language of science just flitting by I gulp and try not to cry. 1.5 hours of staring blankly at Yeong Pang Kim Buay, and a can of green tea is on the menu for dinner Because what's worse than going for a performance alone is eating in front of people you know, alone. But the stage lights are turning on now, Yiling is there, shining and beautiful in an intricate blue dress, a dancer if I ever saw one (and trust me I've seen them) And Liyana! Majestic with a silver headdress bigger than life, She speaks with a familiar conviction that I've grown to know, and love. Somehow, someway, that makes it all better- And for the first time today I see a tiny ray of light. Ly xxx Trapped in a room with people you don't know. Yes, their names, their age, the color of their eyes and hands and hair-
But thoughts? Dreams? Fears? Something that goes deeper than the skin. Find out what runs in their veins. What fuels their feet to keep moving forward, onward Skip lightly on those cheekbones and skim what lips have touched there Crawl through the recesses of these ribs and pry them apart to peer ever so discreetly into a beating heart Yes, and take what is inside to make it yours. But that is not what happens when you're a prisoner in a stifled room. You do not tumble into bodies not meant to know you Wrapped in their decadence and careless laughter So instead you shrink. And with it the 4 walls enclose further Growing smaller Until you are but a whisper in that room full of roaring bodies. ly xxx Love to a person who had only lived a decade or so was like swimming without the instructions. Humans had been born to conquer the oceans, but I was a baby who yearned for a heart and didn't mind the drowning process, as if the 70% of water inside of me was crying out its final, last suicide song.
He swam in the pool waters like a siren tricking seafarers to their eventual death. He pulled me in with pale, tired hands, black hair glinting, sunlight shining in the murky depths. He was not a human: rather a liquid, a substance I couldn't keep except to drink in like an alchoholic when the clock struck 12am and there was nothing in my head except the sounds of his name, which grew, an endless flicker beat... Slowly that sound began to fade. Slowly, I began to forget. I learned that to be painfully sober was better to be drunk on the same destructive bliss over, and over again. The process of throwing away his bottle was hard and long and difficult, but over time, his name did not hurt my lips anymore. I resurfaced the silver waters a stronger human, and the first time I opened my mouth to sing it was so beautiful it should have been put into history books and stopped world war 3 in its tracks. |
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