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| What has once settled so well
does not settle any longer.
Telling tall tales
to cover up the veil.
My lies have caught up to me
after running so long.
In search of something new,
I venture where few
have even stepped foot.
As if on cue
my whole world was put
on hold.
What was I looking for?
A change in the world?
Oh, but the world can only do so much
for my expectant heart.
Living idly and passively
nonchalantly through the eyes of a looking glass.
What do I see
but a girl who craves the undesirable.
Passing through crowds of people
It is true that I bump into you
just to be touched and stared at.
No one takes notice when I walk through the doors.
So why not a sly smile here and there.
Shadowed by mistaken beauties and identities.
What are we to make of ourselves?
Caught up with the crowd
I have lost my sense of direction.
I no longer know where I am headed.
I cannot ask a stranger for help
and just like our journey in life
my pouring out steers away,
wanders away to the unknown
for how can we expect the pain
and hurts of what's to come?
How can we prepare when everyone is oblivious?
How can we not get jaded
by the deliberate intent of others?
Expectations forced and pushed
we all live nonchalantly through the looking glass,
all craving for something new.
But the world has jaded us
-we have only felt the pains and hurts.
We don't know where to go
we can't ask for directions
we must fend for ourselves
when venturing to the unknown
and what is to come
-all in due time to my expectant heart.
July 1
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| There is always a time to grow and mature,
to heal and let go.
But my heart is stubborn and knows nothing else,
nothing better than to stay stagnant,
on the same place it has been for over a decade.
How can I move when I have not been healed;
how can a wounded heart love again;
how can a lost soul be found?
How can I accept my self when it has become my foe;
how can I forget my past when it is my nightmare;
how can a dead soul be revived?
I am afraid of the night not because of its darkness,
but because of the absence of light,
because of what it entails and implies.
The darkness is where I hide and reside,
where I take comfort and relief.
Save me for I cannot let go.
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| Am I on?
You listening?
Got things to lay off my chest;
Tried hard to turn around
and walk away from the past
But it seem like the past don't want to let go.
It caught me and I'm its prisoner.
Stuck inside a cage
singing songs of what once was
only reflecting on the past.
And no one knows my sorrow
no one cares to look towards my eyes.
Am I here?
How did I end up here?
And how can I evaluate and analyze what has happened
when I haven't yet recuperated?
The same sad songs sung
about the mistakes in the past
or just the past itself.
We try to start anew
but who are we trying to fool
-only ourselves
because you and I both know
we are products of our past
and to run away from the past,
we're only avoiding ourselves.
I am my past;
I am the broken child
-Impossible to mend
Impossible to comprehend.
I am my past-
I'm living in my past.
Don't know what's the present
And unable to see the future.
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| I dreamt of my own death last night.
I was plastered against a plain white wall
with thorned-roses lying against my side.
My glassy eyes were opened wide
and my mind was running in circles.
I saw an image of myself
as if the reflection was reflected off a mirror;
I observed what was most prominent
and was fixated on my flaws.
I knew one day I would pass away
but did not predict in such an appalling way.
I slowly undid myself from the wall
and picked up the now bloody thorned-roses.
I held them tightly into my hands
and ventured across the dark scenery.
I could not see what was before me
but did not stumble or lose my way;
I got breathless on the way
and leaned out to find out I was underneath a shaded tree.
I sat there and waited,
unsure of what was to come.
Images of my past replayed before me;
the naive and ruthless girl,
once optimistic turned bitter sweet.
Jaded and burnt,
she is only concerned about getting by the day.
Who will save her now
when she has been thrown away?
Who will rescue her
when she has been forgotten and left behind?
Who will love her
when she has been used and shattered?
I threw the thorned-roses
and flung my arms into the unknown,
trying to erase the images of my past.
But I could not escape from the truth.
My flawed self cannot distinguish right from wrong,
and was not able to stay behind the limit line.
I have become a product of my past
and I was stuck in a bottomless ditch.
Let death rescue me
perhaps that will save me from my misery.
Let death cover up my insecurities
and hurts from my childhood.
Let death be-
I will fight it no more.
Let death consume me
for I have lost my way.
Let death blind me
so that I do not have to face myself as the enemy.
Let death be the death of me.
Who can save a lost soul?
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| The question of why evil exists is always asked.
No matter how much I would like to provide an answer,
I cannot ever grasp such complexities with my complex mind.
We ask too many questions
and want too many things;
Assured that we satisfy others,
we only satisfy ourselves.
Assured that we're moving,
we've only been behind the same white-lined stop sign.
We're afraid to go beyond
what is required of us
-and who sets these requirements,
but us, ourselves.
Living in a world of hypocrisy and irony;
Isn't it ironic that we're the hypocrites?
-How we point fingers at others
only to find our fingers reverted back to ourselves;
and how we categorize and judge those
who are a mere reflection of ourselves
and how we only see the flaws of others
but blind to our own;
how we're blind to the needs of the suffering
but aware of our wants and desires;
how we run and toil not for the tragedies of this world
but for the temptations of this world.
We ask for too many things
and want answers to questions not meant to be answered.
-it's not that it can't be answered.
Too afraid to look at ourselves in the mirror;
We demand and complain about it
to the extent that we forget the main purpose of even asking that question.
We ask to the point where we don't do.
We barricade ourselves to the point where we're cornered with our own miseries.
We are afraid to the point where the answers we desire, we deny.
The question is not why evil exists,
but rather
Why do we exist?
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