Poetry

A Blank Stare

A blank stare
at my window,
counting—
the raindrops
unknowingly;
the cup of tea
sits on my lap.

A blank stare
at the note,
my mind vacant;
waiting—
unconsciously
for you to arrive.

Daily Post’s Singin’ in the Rain.

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Strange

Individuals

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I could easily incorporate love in today’s prompt. A mere mention of expressing one’s emotion to someone else sounds frightening enough. And the next thing most millennials are afraid of: falling in love.

Or I could also write down a list of things that scares me, like speaking in front of a crowd or dyeing my hair blonde, with matching explanations why they scare me and how to get rid of them.

But I will always go back to my first post, What Are We Afraid Of.

Big or small, we are afraid of something. But why are we afraid? Really. I could write down a long list of things that I’m afraid of. But not a single acceptable reason as to why. We live once, they say. And reasons will just sound like excuses.

However, I suddenly thought of something that could be the most terrifying yet: how my mind works and what I could do to myself, or to anyone, for that matter. Maybe the thing that we’re most scared to do is what we can do when all we think of is ourselves.

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Poetry

Unwanted

sad-unwanted-girl-black-and-white-photography-poetry

Look at me like tigers do to deer—
magnetized, cunning, and greedy.
Notice me as detectives gather clues—
observant, regardful, and determined.
Possess me like how you possess her—
quaint, anxious, and grasping.

Receive my heart and hold me blind,
savor this maiden with loathe in mind.
Treat me as a gift you did not ask,
until all the present turn to past.

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Poetry

The Chill of the Night

girl confused chill night poem

The chill of the night keeps hugging me
Trying to balance the heat on my body
But the cold only seeped into my heart
The numbness of the being turned to art

The chill of the night is amatory
Fervently dreaming to sleep with me
Though this dazed girl do not despise
My feelings and state of mind, undefined

The chill of the night, he whom I pity
Love that is not reciprocated, I was he
The chill of the night, he will move on
Later in no time, the chill will be gone

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Strange

neg·li·gence

/ˈneɡləjəns/
noun
failure to take proper care in doing something.

That’s how I am with my blog right now. I’m negligent, without meaning to. I’ve been writing a lot lately but never had the time to publish them. There’s so many things going on in my mind (and my heart?) and I feel like I have to fix them first. Clear some uncertainties and be comfortable with the others. That’s my goal. So please go smoothly, October. And maybe then I’ll look differently at this month. Wink.

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Bitter

Demand for Authenticity

Illustrations-Diego-Fernandez-11I’m tired of looking at something I can’t have. I constantly block my senses from working—my eyes from seeing, the thought from coming, and the feelings(!)—almost hating them for functioning properly. But the itch on my heart just keeps growing, gently and then suddenly.

I’m tired of living in the back of my mind instead of walking with reality. My body is hungry and it’s craving for something definite, something real. But the world I made for myself is bewitching.

I’m tired of wanting prohibited dreams. People. And things. But my ears stubbornly listen to my articulate brain talking its way through things by teaming up with my very desires.

We’re tired of liking something we can’t have. But we do it anyway. Because the thought of it is thrilling, our eyes spark for it’s fireworks that we see, and the feelings(!), unlike any that we know of. We’re tired, but we keep on thinking anyway. For it deceives our minds and makes us happy for a moment; happy because of an imagination and even though happiness is a myth. We’re tired but we keep on wanting, on yearning the prohibited. Because no matter how much we try to fool ourselves that everything will be better if we follow the right track, the impalpable forces will pull us back to show us what we truly love.

[Photo]

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Poetry

Not Sweet Sixteen

explore-independent-woman-light-sky

A flat tire in my throat
Salt river down my cheeks
The clown’s red puffy nose
And a blue handkerchief

My heart screaming “Stop!!”
But the body keeps going on
The mind finally speaks up
All things happen for a reason

So I waited for the year to pass
Hoping I’d find myself along
But I found other people instead
And they made me wanna move on

Turns out, I was never really gone
And everything was just an illusion
The emotions from the first stanza
It’s just me craving for attention

Daily Post’s Only Sixteen.

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