November 26th

Poetry

I stare at the blank page,
Forcing my thoughts into imprisoned words.
Sentence after sentence,
I carefully construct a piece of worthy literature only acceptable to me:
For whom is the judge between the enslaved mind and the fingers controlled by the brain?

A moment turns into an infinity:
the removal of one dictator for another…
Will I ever experience true liberty,
If I am both the slave and the tyrant?

Cinderella falls into the rabbit hole,
And Alice is tricked into an everlasting sleep.
Snow white rescues Prince Charming from the dragon,
And Little Red Riding Hood is the wicked witch.

Yugeur labong ziber ziber awwreu
Gremble remble zench laroux

Insanity is the norm that allows me to imprison my thoughts.
Each word containing many thoughts just waiting to be freed

Advertisements

Confined In The Reality Of Fables

Poetry

I have bite marks on my tongue from the words I never let pour out of my mouth,
Scratch marks on my arms from the hugs I could never give you:
The physical pain is not what eats the corner of my brain,
But rather the silence:
The nothing
The idea that it was all just an illusion in my head.

Because for once in my life I wanted to believe in a fairy tale.
I felt something and mistook him for being Prince Charming.
Just.
Like.
That.
It was midnight and when my glass slipper fell off my foot, he didn’t see it because he was too caught up loving Cinderella.
For I was not her,
I was just merely an imposter on Halloween-
all dressed up for trick-or-treat.

Plastic Limitations

Poetry, Silent Observations

Dolls lined up in neat rows of ten,
each equally afraid of lies, pain and disappointment
Drawn with aching smiles and soulless eyes:
cages are imprinted with redundant words to spark interest

A new era of egocentrically selfless dolls pollute the aisle
while the rest are left to decay into the dust they rose from
And as damaged beauty is glorified,
hearts are lost to the physical eye:

Money, magnified, manic
Absent, apathetic, abandoned
Grated, generic, glorified
Empty, effortless, edited
Damaged:
the end of each relationship is the beginning of every insecurity…
Damaged.

Pieces Of A Puzzle

Poetry

I am a collection of broken pieces,
a complete whole yet not completely whole.

I am a collection of broken pieces,
instinctively reopening healed wounds to feel at ease.

I am a collection of broken pieces,
a tragic hero to the demons in strangers’ eyes.

I am a collection of broken pieces:
An artwork to be understood.
A poem to be interpreted.
A mathematical equation to be solved.
Pieces of a puzzle lying on the ground…

I am a collection of broken pieces:
Please don’t save me.
This is home.