The Kind Of Feelings Underneath
I want to cry, I am crying.
I want to cry to someone yet there’s no one that understands.
I try to do something nice and get yelled at, it doesn’t make it easy that there’s something I’m hiding.
I laughed at my reflection in mirror, my rosy cheeks stained with hideous marks of what used to reside there. I haven’t cried like this in so long and it hurts.
I sat there at the ground of my bathroom sink and buried my head into my arms. The only way I can express my pain is through here... a place where no one knows me but can understand that feeling underneath.
There was a once a little girl seated loftily on that prestigious throne of hers. It mattered no less that her citizens were to be fed and the long painstaking hours her guards stood at post. At last they couldn’t bear the harsh treatment anymore and hastily went to usurp the throne from the little girl. Yet how foolish were they to think it was that easy. The throne itself was placed on top of a steep mountain with no way of getting a balanced footing. They tried and tried all through the night but alas their efforts were futile. The path for the throne is brutal and no one knew it more than the little girl. For her body was given to the Gods and only her soul was left to remain on that bloody throne. The next day, her citizens were at rest.
Imagine staying still behind glass walls everyday.
Damn what a job!
It’s like they expect me to be able to withstand those long tedious 24 hour shifts and not give a single complaint? To make it worse, they don’t even invite me over for the 30 min. lunch breaks. God I’m hungry yet I have to stay here to make sure the customers aren’t complaining about the prices of the shirt. Still I always have to stay behind to take care of the store while my coworkers are going back home to rest. Don’t even get me started about those annoying kids, can’t they stop tugging at my clothes already? At this point what’s the difference between this plastic mannequin and the employees?!
Was it worth it?
I don’t know but...
I would have chosen the same choice
Oh is that what you wanted me to say?
It was a mistake
how did I manage to convince myself to do it in the first place?
Lost and Found
Once in a while, these special moments I make are stored inside my pocket however my pocket gets filled up easily and needs to be emptied. I never want to let them go but my pocket urges for me to do something about it until they finally give in and do it behind my back. I forget about it and then I realize I missed it, so I searched deep into the abyss of darkness hoping to get a better taste of it once more. I find it again but only fragments of it remain.
Rather than pointing out at my physical attributes I much prefer to ridicule my mind. After all hasn’t it done the same nor worse?
I Miss You
I miss the times you made me fried rice with melons.
I miss you smacking my cousins with a broom because he acted out again.
I miss hearing your native tongue.
I miss seeing you every year.
I miss hugging you.
I miss you a lot.
I wish I could tell you these things before you closed your eyes and lied in the casket. I wish I could have told you that I loved you and that it was okay that you needed rest after raising all of us up.
Your not my love, not my daughter, or my sister, nor my mother. But you are my grandma that I love dearly. Wo ai nei
Who Would Have Thought?
I was very close to my grandparents at the time and may I say very young. They were on my father’s side of the family and had taken care of me when my parents were off to work. I love them both very much and was so attached to them (both physically and mentally). I would always grab hold of their arms/hands and it would always give me some type of comfort. Going back to the main point, my close family and relatives were all going to this festival (similar to Six Flags) and of course I went too. Then I got lost like a typical child I was. I saw someone at the time, they must have had a similar back to my grandpa because I went over to this stranger and started to grab hold of his arm and gave it a large bear hug! I didn’t realize it wasn’t actually him until I saw that his arm had in fact, tattoos at the top. There isn’t much to the story except that I didn’t get kidnapped and the stranger was very polite in accepting my apologies. If you remember me, hi?
I don’t hate my father nor do I love him either.
Maybe it’s the blood in my veins that causes us to stay together.
He makes me fear him. I stay quiet when I eat now because I’m scared.
This space in between us is now unforgivable.
Every time he calls my name it sends shivers down my spine.
He thinks I can’t live by myself
His pride gets hurt,
then what about mines?
I can’t even stand close to him now, so when I see my other friends’ fathers being close to one another... I could never imagine it.
Dumbest Metaphor For Life
Life is noodles. Sticking to each other when good news arises but quickly disperses when heat of shame is replaced in its position.