darling, you must see there are nights i cry.
for i am a work in progress like
little children playing pretend.
they taunt me, call me.
boos to their barbie doll heads and rubber bands!
trap me in may where they chained me up,
and locked me in my closet with empty seats.
they made me board a train to memory lane,
find a place that maybe we could revisit and see;
how things had left the way they came
but somehow i question why
they’re never the same.
it’s now 2am. the summer breeze of july kicks in.
nothing old. nothing new.
but this time, this time!
Oh man, oh man. Found this in my notes quite some time back and realized how much my English has actually gone down the drain. On a brighter note, my Chinese has been improving (I hope) and I am more than ready to expand my Chinese dictionary right now.
Your oblivion pokes at my arrogant nature
Thus I can only observe your back
But never can I forget the days when
Passion takes your lips and
Admiration takes my eyes,
Infatuation taking over my heart.
You see, you’re a star in the sky.
The start of my sky.
Shining intellectually within lame aspects of
Your poor taste in music, or even
Your boring love for fate versus logic.
Do I even have logic?
Those nights when dreams take my head
And the impossible happens.
Those days when I gush over the far-fetched
Memory of your back;
That broad and individual back of yours.
I don’t think I have logic.
Compositions of thoughts and arguments;
Elements of love and infatuation.
Things I turn a blind eye to, which I shouldn’t,
But I do.
My heart doesn’t quite know its limits as it reaches its peak.
Time ticks. In a matter of months I see you,
There, once again,
With that ugly polo tee and that addictive smile.
But it’s not me who’s sitting opposite you.
This time, it’s different.
It was always just you.
And then, there was me.
In all honesty, I actually think that my essays really sucks sometimes. I do have an account on Wattpad I’m not going to talk about, and on days I find my self esteem sinking deeper till Adele can’t even roll in it (ha, get it).
But nevertheless, I still find myself writing poems I think aren’t good enough. Hopefully, my dictionary could expand as time passes, but for now I present this, to you.
The Mind of a Philosophy
You eat me up
Like termites on a wooden floor board;
Clawing and chewing on things we live on,
Just like that I live on.
You see, I’m not perfect.
I am the definition of facades, in due time,
Who will break into a million emotions.
I am the definition of cover ups and falsity.
Because you see, I’m different.
This is me, seventeen and growing
into many different feelings.
This is me, wasting youth on so many different directions.
And it will be me who grows into nothing
But empty shells and pretty smiles.
So leave me be to drown in my insecurities.
It’s asphyxiating, abounding,
But nothing beats knowing what I am but one
Whom you can’t do anything about.
I think I’ll live.