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Lie to MeThere are those who stare into the water's edge.
Gleaming eyes fixed upon their reflections.
I am beautiful! they say to themselves,
And all of you must accept that as true!
To say otherwise would be a social suicide.
Their friends will defend them to the bitterest end.
In a circle of illusions cast by the group,
You are forced to accept this person as 'pretty'.
To me you are not beautiful, you are simply lazy.
You have done nothing for yourself,
And now you wish me to accept you?
But I must tell you the truth.
And though that truth may wound you,
I believe it is for the best:
Because girl, dayum! You just look so bad that my eyes are cryin' YOU a river.
- Chen Yuan Wen, 11th August 2013
Are We Not Free?Are We Not Free?:
Ye say that nothin' changes;
That all we're tryin' t' do is fer naught.
Ye say that nothing's wrong,
That we should be acceptin' of our fate.
But why should we simply accept things as they are?
Are we no' a free people?
Are we no' allowed t' speak our minds?
Every man, every woman in this land,
Has the freedom t' choose their own path.
If our ideals must beg us differ,
Then that too is a part of the change that grips us.
What exactly do ye have t' fear?
If yer stoic in ye ideal that nothin' will ever change.
Why not simply ignore us;
A passin' flight o' fancy that we are...
Yet still ye try, ye attempt t' change our minds.
Ye pacify us with the notion of acceptance,
Highlightin' the fact that the world is fine.
Ye say that this is the way that things should be!
That m'friend, is yer personal freedom;
I'll not impinge upon it, fer it be yours.
I only ask, if ye could kindly mind,
Not to treat us, like we're bleedin' blind...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 18th July 2013
What Are You To Me?What Are You To Me?:
I have walked in this world,
And they have told me of kings.
Of brave rulers who make the tough choices,
Men of example and outstanding character.
But it was then that they said,
What is a king to a God?
What is a mere mortal to a higher power,
One who holds our fate in his hands?
They said he was benevolent and kind,
Wrathful and jealous, magnanimous and selfish alike.
He was the perfect ideal, embodying all things
And we were made in his image...
It was then that I was laughed at,
By he who asked this question:
What is a God, to a non-believer?
One who lives by the truth he sees...
He is the man who acts as per his morals.
He lives through his eyes and is judged by his fellows.
He submits to no higher being, not a one does he fear;
Comfortable with his own conscience...
But all three, I beg; I ask ye this:
For what is a king to a God,
A God to a non-believer,
And all three of them in comparison,
To the madman who watches the world burn...
I Am The Mighty!I Am The Mighty:
I remember this tale, from a time of brutality; from whence I would have gladly murdered a soul. For the fragile seek to transcend their pain, but ever are they poisoned by it.
This man I remember had called himself ‘Mighty’ and I watched from the stands as he delivered his speech. “You are the fools!” he cried to the audience, “for even as you mock me, I am whole. Through tragedies I've suffered, through pain I persevered. I am a greater man and your words may never hurt me.”
Fool, is what I thought, for he seemed to take pride in this display. The crowd cheered him on, patting him on the back, but to me he lacked conviction. For I saw through the sham in his boast and I knew that his demons would haunt him again. This time a little earlier than needed.
“Yes my friends, I am a damaged man. I have been broken before and my spirit shattered,” he continued to ramble, as I drew close to him.
What's Left Behind...Some days I find myself staggering from this hovel;
To stand with shaking legs upon the window ledge.
I look down at the tiny world below, wind rushing before me;
And I wonder if I'll be able to fly tonight...
The caress of the wind, so gentle upon my skin.
One step, one leap and I'd dip myself into the eye of the storm.
But just before my courage sends me;
Just before I take the final plunge.
I find myself looking back, at the world I'd leave behind...
Stacks of paper and a pot of ink,
Reams of stories too precious to burn.
Ideas and fears both rolled into one;
And pages of poetry left undone...
It always leaves me smiling...
For these were the treasures so close to my heart.
They are the wealth of my mind; my soul, my art.
And I could never ever leave them be,
Where another might burn them, without thinking of me...
"Apologies father, I cannot join you yet:
For in this world, a treasure still exists.
A treasure tha
You've suffered enough...My dearest child, do not weep, for I am here to wipe your tears away. Come, let us be free of these blankets; let us walk from these dim halls.
There lies what once was your body, fevered and eaten by disease. Your lips are cracked and bleeding, your arms are both thin and sallow. Do not fear them now, for they are long passed.
Come away now, for we must say your final goodbyes. Here to the mother and father that came to your bedside each day. Here to the brother, who shall honour your name. Do not be jealous of them, my dearest child. For you are simply moving ahead; you have not fallen behind.
“But why, why does it hurt so much?”
Why? Because the memories are still carried within you. Your attachments are still strong in this world. That which you didn’t achieve, that which you haven’t done. All of it is carried as chains upon your body and they will stop you from
Dear Father I Loved You, But...Dear Father, I loved you,
But this truth I shall say.
That you were the demon,
that made me this way!
And though I am hiding,
It's hard when it's lurking beneath:
This anger and hatred,
It's all I believe.
So don't speak or I'll hurt you,
I'm sorry, I'm sorry,
But you are the ending,
Of this broken story.
So tell me, dear Father,
What can you say,
To boy whom you twisted;
When you pushed him away.
Love Beyond the WindowWhen I was young, I believed in fairy tales.
I believed that if your heart willed it,
That love could overcome anything.
That one day, two lovers could always be together.
But those were simple lies I think...
After all, how does one reach across a window;
Reach across a screen...
To hold someone on the other side,
Before they slip through your fingers.
Like a lonely dance between air and water,
I can only stand on the surface of the lake,
And see her smiling on the other side.
Sometimes, I would draw pictures on the surface;
These thin useless arms of mine scrawling tiny doodles,
And she would smile and reply to each one:
Including a heart, for 'I love you'...
And each time I would feel,
As though I could soar through any distance,
As though I could run a hundred miles.
If only so I could see you;
If only because I missed you...
But enough I say...
Enough of this life
Song of RaineShe scatters the seeds with her tiny hands.
And pictures the sunset in a distant land.
She dreams of places, where she'd be free.
With clouds as far as the eyes could see.
And there she'd dance to the song of the rain,
While I would watch from my window pane.
With a smile befitting such a lovely girl;
The daughter I lost, to a cruel world...
The Right Hand Curse ReversedEverything that my right hand has ever written
Comes from the heart and mind of a boy that is cursed
So from now on I’ll learn to write with my left hand
In hope not expectation that this curse will be reversed
And then I shall sit in front of an open fire
Unflinching as each flame licks closer to my face
Not close enough though so it could swallow me whole
But just close enough so that it can have a taste
Of the beads of regret in my perspiration
That are forming and rolling down my furrowed brow
From a wildfire mind that is now out of control
Come thoughts that these damp morals fail to disallow
Everything that my right hand has ever written
Might as well have been scribed in invisible ink
With my thoughts being a vessel on a voyage of hope
And the weight of my memories causing it to sink
Right down to the depths of the deepest ocean floor
And left down there to rot beneath the sea bed
I thank the Lord that they’ll remain out of reach
And that none of the words I’ve
In my head...In my head,
The birds that fly above me
Are the dragons of my kingdom.
In my head,
Cats and dogs are lions and wolves,
And my fish is a sea monster.
In my head,
My pen is a sword,
And I’m fighting witches and evil men
To find my prince charming.
In my head,
Butterflies spin through the air
And fly through my bedroom windows
To whisper things in a language
That only I understand.
In my head,
There is a world other than
These black and white dreams
And these faded grey skies.
In my head,
There is a universe.
Can’t you see it, too?
Bones mend, but tell no lies.You have cataloged your scars
like your body is a library-
to be read through &
You think of
all the little boys
whose greedy fingers
You are angry-
cared for you
They left you
on a shelf
to gather dust.
should you ever
HomesickThey say home is where your heart is.
Right now I wonder
if that means I am away from home,
lost on the road
between here and there,
or that I am
One Like WaterWe speak.
We all live.
We all die.
So tell me again.
make us so different
from each other?
Lost NovemberI am lost November,
with the breath of winter
at the hairline of its neck.
I am the blood orange that
sours a little too soon.
A thirty day intuition
to a season of good will.
A blip on the side of
the road that melts easily
out of sight, out of mind.
An unremembered instance
on a torn index page
of a forgotten, spineless book.
I am lost November.
Remember me the instance
when you feel unremembered too.
confessions of a misguided poetcertain things in my mind
would be better left unsaid,
i. how I stared at a bottle of pills
for an hour as if they would slide down
my throat on their own.
ii. when I stepped out of the shower
with bloody knees and didn't bother
to put a band aid over them.
iii. why I can't keep a smile long
enough for someone to take
iv. who I wanted to be when I was
a little girl and who I am
right here and now.
v. where I tried to jump off a
bridge and landed in water
deep enough for me to swim in.
vi. what I wanted to scream at
you that day but I just stayed
silent and hoped you would forget.
no more pretty words and
today; just life,
the truth, and everything
that I never want to tell
Fear of LifePlease do not fear being beneath the Earth’s soil
For that is where the seeds of flowers grow
Be patient and life will reveal its mysteries
But only when it is ready to do so
By all means take time to search for the truth
But beware, please do not become obsessed
As we only fear what we don’t understand
And what we don’t understand is but a test
A test of faith in whatever you believe
Now stand up for yourself and you cannot fail
If life is the hammer waiting to fall
Then you must refuse to be the nail
Please do not fear being above the Earth’s soil
For that is where the flowers begin to bloom
Just open your heart as their petals do
And your life will be as sweet as their perfume
You could be the change in someone’s journey
Showing them the path from incomplete to whole
Why not give someone the gift of your love
And watch as they gently unwrap your soul
Suddenly the truth will dawn upon you
To live life without fear and you cannot fail
If life is a sailboa
Another Language called EnglishI took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particular made them giggle. I would stand in a corner, clutching a glass of rum and coke and cringe, flushing in second hand embarrassment. You would smile at me from across the room, and continue with your tangled tongue as though nothing was wrong.
I felt sorry for you. But not sorry enough when you took your favourite writing pen from my d
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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