Fool

Some things will never change.

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The dripping stains I see them clear,
with every passing wave,
I stay still and feel,
the tears falling onto my shirt.
They plummet with a heaviness unseen,
unwitnessed and unfelt before.
Like the rain in October,
slightly felt and clearly seen.

With the foolishness of a fool
I tread heavily into maze,
full of despair and agony,
burning like indistinguishable fuel.
My heart clasped with a cumbersome
ashamed feeling of a daze.
I feel sick in my stomach
as I never fail to amaze,
the belligerent fool in me.

The same mistakes over and over again.
I get disgusted with myself sometimes,
from the pathetic, finicky heart of mine,
that never seems to give me any time,
to process things,
and tread with refrain.

I fall in love too easily,
and I will always remain a fool.
Someone please help me,
to find the fucking cure.

Gravity

Gravity is bound to catch you.

Your teardrops fall and drip,
blasting heavily onto the floor beneath
with gravity taking claim of the salty,
and heavy sadness.

Gravity carries your ample tears
anxiously and without doubt.
It is always there for you.

Grappling with a major calamity,
you tremble with mighty agony
as pieces of the puzzle around you,
fall and tumble down onto the ground.
They are carried by gravity.

Your knees tremble
and your hands shake.
Your entire being descends,
and crashes onto the surface,
with all your burdens,
carried by gravity.

The Day I Knew It Will Never Be (First Poem I Wrote).

Memories.

WHOA what a throwback. I was digging around through the books I own, and out fell a piece of paper written on it the first poem I ever wrote. I remember I was maybe in the tenth grade, and it was about a girl, and let’s just say, things were quite messy. This poem made me realize that writing and expressing yourself, no matter the outcome, can be truly therapeutic. 

 

The day I knew it will never be,
Jasmine, I thought she would set me free.
My heart beating faster, waiting for a reply…
It was devastating, I vowed never again to try.

Overwhelmed with emotions I almost died,
never anticipating such a wry.
The girl you loved and dreamed about, day and night
never shared the same love for you,
what a surprise.

Tears filled up my eyes, my heart was broken,
every expectation turned out to be
a hallucination.
I was madly, insanely, deeply in love
and I linger…
But it will never be.

Knowing it will never be, I wait for the night,
hoping to see her in my dreams,
hoping it will turn into reality.
The night is a long way away,
and day dreams are stale, obsolete.
I dream…
But I knew it will never be.

Jasmine, I know you’ll be happy someday.
You’ll shine in the sky for your lover one day…
But why not shine for me, Jasmine?

Oh yeah I forgot.

It will never be.

 

 

Skulls and Bones.

Poor children.

Children laying down,
broken, exposed and frail beyond comprehension.

Shadows strike within the glass,
reflecting the reflections of the tiny,
fragile souls,
up towards the sky.

They lay,
defeated, consumed
lost in the mystery of deception,
haunted beings,
screaming with no perception
of what happens next.

Locked and bound
to their everlasting demise.
The only memory left of them,
the one reflected towards the heavens,
where heaven is nowhere to be reached.

Their hands tangled into one another,
with the footsteps getting closer,
they pray to the heavens.

They pray to the only thing that can save them,
yet the prey,
the prey devours them inside the house of heaven.
The Children shrieking their confessions,
shouting at the haunted curse,
that took their childhood away.

The curse approaches them,
noises made like the sound of skulls
rattling and signaling,
the voices of a null, beast-like,
and unforgiving savage.

The clock is ticking
and the Children pray,
as the prey gets closer.


 

Skulls and bones.

Everywhere.

Circles

Round and round she goes.

I could hear the noise
coming from a near distance.

Frantic breathing,
sweat trickling down her forehead,
whirling and running
into a synchronous of perfection.

Hopes and fears,
and realizations of a life lost,
with nothing dear,
a hefty price and cost.

The screaming and the circles,
all what’s left now.

The only perfection she managed,
a soul abused and damaged,
was the spirals she forged as she wept,
the cries she shouted with neglect.

Last Call, #6

A new chapter is unfolding soon.

Damn.

Time flies by. In almost a month or so, I’ll be graduating from university. I swear I feel like the past three years were instant, an aberration, an anomaly in time and space.

All the greater plans are starting to unfold. So many hopes and dreams after this. I sure am waiting for the best.

It’s interesting having to think of it right now, how fruitful this whole experience was to me, and at the same time, I have this guttural feeling of how much it was a complete waste of time. I’m not sure whether to choose between any of the latter, maybe a bit of both. At this stage in my life, I sincerely believe that I didn’t accumulate enough knowledge. I used to always believe that getting an education was all about you know, getting ready for a job in the field you prefer in the future.

I’m realizing it’s a lot more than that. I grew as a person, and I had my ideas challenged, and ever changing, which is quite amazing considering the current state of academia, where any original or different ideas are being shut down. This is by far the biggest blessing in my opinion. Being told you can’t think that way, or you can’t adhere to a certain set of ideas, is the literal meaning of fascism, and with all the stories I’m hearing from friends, I am blessed indeed.
This upcoming month is destined to pass by quickly, and honestly, I can’t wait for it to be over, so I can start all over again.

Perfect Mornings

Everyone loves them, no?

She sits in the same seat, every morning I start my day with looking at her. Her bag goes either on the floor, or the chair next to her. She positions herself, always glancing at the teacher, eyes screwed still onto him, taking everything in, deep into the lecture.

Me? I’m trying to sneak a glance at her every now and then. Blonde curly hair, with pink ends, luscious lips like I’ve never seen before, and a smile that never seems to fade away. I’m not sure why she’s always smiling, but I sure do like it. What I like most about her though is her eyes. They remind me of something I’ve never seen before, yet they still remind me of that thing I speak of, strange indeed.

I don’t know what sparked my interest. I’ve known her, for a while actually, but I never realized her childlike personality, and how in the same time, you can feel a sense of grit and toughness. To me, a woman with that particular combination is one ought to be fought for, like Hemingway on a hunting trip, killing every danger on his way.

It always amazes me, that sudden surge of thoughts and feelings towards someone you are familiar with, but never really appreciated their beauty and mind. She seems to be lost, not always sure, and very careful, which is all more attractive. Insecurities make a person, not perfections. I don’t care for one’s perfections, those are easy to tell and handle, but imperfections are what constitute a person, and what really makes them who they are.

She’s distant. I don’t think anything will happen, and I don’t think I will pursue anything with her. You know, don’t you think that sometimes it’s better that things be left the way they are? I’m scared I won’t have the same appreciation I have for her. A glimmer of hope and sparkle to my mornings, let’s leave it that way, shall we?