Maybe growing up is learning how to let go.
And maybe that's why I don't like it so much. To tend to an ever so growing graveyard of memories and versions of people who no longer exist, somewhere in my heart.. what a wretched, wretched thing to witness.

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Excuses
All saints in their glory
And pasts that remain unknown
All sinners with their troubles
And a path that is yet to unfold
All the good and all the evil
I have known and relinquished
All the work and all the leisure
Seemingly escaping my grip
All the if and buts I don't wanna use
Every dime that I have ever refused
All the questions I have ever had
And the riddles I got as answers
All the love I have worked for
And hate that was graciously given
All the weight that I carry everyday
And the freedom playing in my lap
Oh what would I give to be not here
The dream that I am that others aspire
To be the grass the wind and the soil
To not know my innermost turmoil
To not get troubled with a simple notion
To do everything I can to owe no reason
And when years would have gone by
I should rake my brain for a heart gone awry
Nothing to truly show for all those years
Maybe I would have lived another lie
Maybe I would have lived another lie..

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Oh, I am thankful to the Sun for all his revolutions and the moon for her reigns
I am thankful for the earth's scortch
and the winds that bring rains
I am thankful for the ocean for all of his curses and of sand who makes time
I am thankful for the snow that freezes all life and of the forest, for it isn't yet mine
I am thankful for an untrustworthy thought
For all the hard work towards doom
I am thankful for my demeanor and all she can do except when she's alone in my room
I can go far and wide to be good and kind and just short of great and be thankful all night
What good will that do though coz I can self-destruct in moderation without a soul in sight..

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You don't see her when she sits quietly
Muttering to herself with a racing heart
And her fingers clutching her pearls
You don't see her composing herself
Crying in her bed and silent prayers
Gathering her strength from an empty vault
You don't see her fighting battles daily
Fearing she's losing the war in long run
Nursing her scars without a healer
You don't see her on her bad days
How years go by in an instant 
with a chip on her shoulder nowhere to hide
You don't see her for all she's been through
For all that she never told you
For her vices and virtues changing sides
You don't see her when she's alone
Unburdening herself of carrying mountains
Of guilt and shame and fear and hurt
You don't see her when she's laughing
Concealing bruises from years ago
Living in hell of her own creation
You don't see her even when you do
She's too kind and mature and good to be true
For she's everything and still not the one

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Why is it that the things I did to save fuck ups ended up fucking me even more?

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When the world stops

And when the world stops
Does everything disappear?
Do your questions get answers
Or do you sit back in your chair
Waiting for it to start spinning again

Do you take a deep breath
And let go of burden haunting you
Or does melancholy come quietly
With a bottle and two glasses
Watching you seduce peace

In those ever so little moments
Do you still think of her
And all the decisions he took
Do you forgive yourself a little
When the world really does stop?

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How are we a generation of broken hearts raised by people who didn't normalize affection living in a society still learning to be humane yet are going numb expecting kindness from others?
We loved, we failed, and we lived.. perhaps unhappily ever after..

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On a good day, with a well-fed belly, a loving family, friends as good as they get, persuing things I always wanted and living the life I dreamed of, I get this urge to cry. To lament at the beauty of it, the blessing that has been graciously bestowed, and incredible luck seemingly at my disposal. The tear between mirth and grief dances on the edge of my eye as I feel the luckiest person alive. I am thankful beyond measure, yet sadness lurks somewhere. Is it really sadness, I wonder. I let the tear fall to its death on my pillow, and the distinction between the two disappeared. I swear I was happier just moments ago. How can I not be? It was a good day, and I have a well-fed belly..

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I have two hours.
I have to have dinner in that.
Watch a movie I downloaded
Workout for a bit and read a little.
I need to call my friends whom I am missing a lot and tell my family that I love them.
I need to clean my room and fold the sheets.
I have to check if my clothes are washed and I need to wash myself too.
Plan ahead and think about my future. Start focusing on myself and love myself unconditionally.
I still have to wash spoons from days ago and organize my wardrobe.
I have two hours.
Before I give in and go to sleep
Not thinking that I feel like a failure for not doing these things.
I have to get this voice out of my head telling me that this is it.
It will always be like that there won't be silver linings in this.
In two hours it will be tomorrow and I have nothing to show for today.
In two hours, I won't have accomplished all that I can and continue to do so..
In two hours, it will be tomorrow, and I will still be me for the last two hours at least..

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Poem, Poet, and Poetry

For once, I want to be the poem and not the poet..
I want to be felt and not understood
I want to be gramatically incorrect and yet of value
I want to be yours but admired by all those who read me
I want to be more than a rhyme,
or a song stuck in your head
I want to have a melody without musicality
I want to be so much more than what meets the eye
I want to be yours in a way that is immortal
Oh, I so want to be the poem and not the poet
I want to hide a universe in mere words
I want to make you cry inconsolablely in the most beautiful way
I want to make you think of things you want to forget
I want to make you feel loved when you are all alone
I want to break you to pieces with hope and laughter
I want to be the poem just this once coz I am living the poetry I can not seem to write..

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