“How Poems are Made/A Discredited View”
Alice WalkerLetting go
In order to hold one
I gradually understand
How poems are made.
There is a place the fear must go.
There is a place the choice must go.
There is a place the loss must go.
The leftover love.
The love that spills out
Of the too full cup
And runs and hides
Its too full self
In shame.
I gradually comprehend
How poems are made.
To the upbeat flight of memories.
The flagged beats of the running
Heart.
I understand how poems are made.
They are the tears
That season the smile.
The stiff-neck laughter
That crowds the throat.
The leftover love.
I know how poems are made.
There is a place the loss must go.
There is a place the gain must go.
The leftover love.
i, the inhumane heartless creature, not.it shitlessly scares me, how last night happened and i couldnt even cry nor feel anything significant; and my only worry - though vast but nothing compares to that of the many other issues i have on hand, is my schoolwork.
it scares me that i couldnt feel sadness nor regret nor concern. it scares me that puffing away on the indon heavy fag doesnt even make me cough. it scares me that for once, i really truly have no care for what people thinks about me - that for once it is not cos i want to hold that principle of never answering to anyone else but myself; but cos i simply couldnt. this emptiness really scares me.
but most importantly, i felt i should stop feeling sorry for myself, the things i did, and caused; and focus on areas like my schoolwork where the result will be more satisfying and
concrete.
and so, i asked.
verarara.
do u think i'm really inhumanely heartless?
fi
u r not,u r strong
fi
i was,am,and will always be in wonder of ur emotional strength
fi
it is something i must emulate,to be worthy
fi
but it pains that im easily wrecked,all the false presumtions of me being tough
verarara.
i really love it that you know me so well, that you read me so well. i mean, despite me being an open book, a lot couldnt see the person i am. but you can.
and it really amazes me. how when i try so hard to have people to understand me, to know me; they might or might not still. but the one time i didnt try at all, he still understands me.
this is what drew me to him. not fancy wordsplay nor sweet-loving time showered on me, but
'tht we touch each other beyond physical means'; just simply by talking.
that we are so different - him so closed-up on his thoughts and feelings to others because he finds strengths in securely hiding his weaknesses, and me so open and loud about everything because i find strength in the ability of laughing at my weaknesses. yet so similar - him opening up to only me because i'm the only one who can open him, and my ability to tell him about the darker, deeper stuff that i have slyly kept despite being so open.
Oh-oh, yes we're the great pretenders.Pretending that I'm doing wellMy need is such I pretend too muchI'm lonely but no one can tellOh-oh, yes we're the great pretendersJust laughin' and gay like a clownI seem to be what I'm not, you seeI'm wearing my heart like a crownbut still, every now and then, i still feel the ache of throwing away the possibility of a comfortably easy and bright future; and that of hurting someone i do love, so horridly.
kan dan yi qie, fo ze ying ci men men bu le.
看淡一切,否則你會因此悶悶不樂。i've 2 choices.
both, i dont deserve.
and having this ability to be making the choice, i dont deserve either.
maybe cos i'm the braviest of us 3, i'm weighed with the responsibility to make the choice.
cos both choices takes a lot of gut.
here's the catch.
brave, but not brave enough to walk away from both choices.
(and another catch.)
which can also mean, having no guts to make a choice, thus choose to run away.
all choices will mean that someone's going to get hurt.
it doesnt matter if i do anymore, honestly.
but i know too much; felt too much, to kid myself that there's only gonna be one sad party(excluding me) in the whole mess.
both choices inevitably will have this ghost that is going to haunt.
to seek my own happiness, and that of the other,
by sacrificing another innocent's happiness.
will there really be happiness under such circumstances?
i'm 22 today.
it doesnt mean much in numbers, really.
i want to say, i'd grow up, i'm already 22; be brave, be mature, walk away, walk on, by myself.
i want to say, life's so short, i'm still only 22; be selfish, be fair only to myself, step in and dont think about anyone or anything else.
i want to say, be an adult, mask myself, act out a life, for the sake of everyone else.
either ways, will i able to ever forgive myself?
it'll be the birthday i'll remember for the rest of my life.
still dont know what i'm talking about?
think about warlords.
yes, the part where the girl fell for the 'brother'.
yes, the part too where the 'brother' fell for her.
and yes cassan, you told me she's a bitch, a slut.
(now you know why i wanted to speak up for her.)
no doubt i do not feel any bit short of being either.
it was supposed to be a secret not to be told.
to be buried, not recognised and let it just slip away.
at least till the day when i finally decide i want to stop trying for the current.
there were no intentions of building the secret into bigger, fatter lies.
there was just a sincere compromise that in years to come,
if things were to change,
if feelings are the same,
then there might be a consideration of what happens next.
but, what happens when someone were to find out,
just when things were recognised,
and quickly resolved?
my 22nd birthday.
i finally truly learn that there's no such things as living a life for myself.