Sympathy

If you were to hear
My sorrow and fear,
Do not come back here,
My beloved dear.

If you were to bear
And give much care,
It would be a bit of a mare.
At least it’s fair.

If you were to leave
During a winter’s eve,
It’s hard to believe,
But you’re finally freed.

mypoetrysignature2

Advertisements

Handsome Lady

IMG_0449

Classified as art, viewed on every existence here on earth.
She was defined as one, ever since she was given birth.
She was like a young plant, blooming into a flower.
Her heart was sweet, but her mind was sour.

Despite her appearance, she never perceived her beauty.
She was a gorgeous lady who is frequently moody.
Her characteristics were strong like the opposite gender,
It surprisingly matches to a serious offender.

She would always be seen wearing a bow tie;
She would always hang out with a drunken old guy.
Those who admired her, their hearts were shattered,
For she eradicated her beauty which she was once flattered.

She attended every masquerade with her classic black suit,
Bewitching maidens with her slenderness and her enigma brute.
Her face; her mask, which she disguised,
Revealed her masculinity to the ignorant men who were not surprised.

Even a single dance can captivate the heart of an oblivious female.
Even those around her were desirous of her charming swell.
But once she removed her mask; her incognito will be released
And all the people will avoid as if she was a contagious disease.

⠀⠀⠀
(Picture drawn by Tracee Kyle)
mypoetrysignature2

My Life in a Movie

In people’s own perspective view, they are the main characters of their own story. It is up to them to decide their own decisions and conflictions.

I bet there is even an invisible narrator who is describing my life. You know, like in some movies, there are these “unknown” people narrating other people’s life, I found it quite satisfying and I even adapt that idea to reality. As I am completely overdosed with movies, television shows and books, I began to see my life as if it was a movie, but not scripted. Probably a reality television show wherein this time, the cameraman is very good at hiding.

However, I also imagined that there are people watching my life while eating popcorn, or maybe a bag of gummy bears- I know it sounded uncanny, but these “people” could feel weary and bored at some point, that’s why it’s up to me to make my life more enthralling because I don’t want my existence to be another cliché movie.

As I do consider myself an extraordinaire, I always have the sudden urge to do or say something that would either make me sound like a comedian or a gothic person, but due to me being an apprehensive person- it can be difficult. I tend to cringe at memories that are regrettable. I kept on repeating them and it’s destroying my acting career. (Ha- I’m being dramatic.) Plus, I am an introvert- my whole world is in my head. In reality, I am a shy, hesitant, soft-spoken being who easily get frightened. (Well, depending on the people that perceived me.) But in my own mind, I am more than that, I am majestic. My mind is screaming so loudly that only me, myself could hear it, yet nobody else would be able to.

Then, I began brooding, would it be better if these “people” are watching my imagination than my existence? I mean- I am the cameraman of my own mind, but I felt that reality is also rolling too. How could you film a person who is filming her own utopia? If only the cameraman could jump inside my head and film everything- I wouldn’t be dull person. My head is always in the clouds, and coming back down to earth can be eerie to me.

Nevertheless, I want these “people” to see my actual self- the personality that is in my mind. I don’t want them to depict me as a typical, average girl because that wouldn’t be me. However, expressing it verbally can turn out to be an indecipherable colloquy. I think I would rather make and do the bucket list than ensuring the other characters would remember me as an extraordinary person. In that case, maybe that could already be a part of my bucket list- remembering me as an extraordinarie.

We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? ‘Cause it was, you know, it was the best.
-Eleventh Doctor (Doctor Who)

Anyways, I’ll just continue being who I am. I am not really solemn about this weird situation, I could only expose my actual self to a few people. Being an enigma would probably be the next thing I would go for, but since I have shared my contemplation with you- being different is what I aimed to be.

mypoetrysignature2

Roses

On his deathbed,
I stole the roses that were red.
I wrapped it to make it seem new.
Then, I gave it to the people I knew.

I was spreading his burdens,
They thought it was from the gardens.
Everyone was satisfied,
Even though, someone has already died.

mypoetrysignature2

Dear Person

As I wrote, “Dear Person.”
I am stuck in my own spiral of thoughts.
The door that was locked, I couldn’t even knock.
I tried to eradicate my mental block.
I even shouted at the motionless clock,
“Stop the time!” I could better have fought.

Dear person, I forbid myself to say your name.
For endless nights, I always thought I was lame.
The hearts that were shattered, it cannot be tamed.
You and I, myself and me, aren’t the same.

As I erase, “Dear Person.”
I am waving my white flag, asking to surrender.
The words are too strong, I became an offender.
Even for my hard feelings, it became its own defender.
The letter is too harsh to give it to the sender.

Dear Person, words are like knives,
They’ve often ruined life.

mypoetrysignature2