For my students… This is always, always gonna be you.
Oh, how fascinating the view of the Garden of Eden! Screaming colors splattering in cue all of a sudden. Thou shall not fade thy radiant living color A moth to a candle: refrain from deep dolor.
Every time I feel like I ain’t really worthy Of thine adoration; like a bamboo in sturdy. Scriptures in synagogue foretell the otherwise But the mien of thine will hail in twice.
The moment I knew how lovely thou art to me. That’s the rhythm my heart sync in gloomy. The language of men turned wordlessly idle. Needle in the haystack became my scapegoat riddle.
Yet everything shall end in goodbyes A smile written in our faces will always be our vice Hold on to the learnings, hold on to the memories ’til we crossed paths again, then we’ll tell our stories.
As I looked back to the learned past, I’ve been through, I come to realize how thankful I am to the mixed emotions I’ve felt from my environment these days and nowadays. This somehow molds me in becoming a warrior to the battles I will continue to fight on and strive hard to achieve something impossible people do not want me to be, for I am a sort of a weakling for them. But I believe that it is the low that makes the high so sweet, so I am ready to cross paths with Goliath if that will be the case. And I am so damn ready for it.
Thinking through different lenses, I become eclectic in various types of phenomena life’s throwing at me. Thus, the 3 keys created by yours truly, as conundrums in this crazy beautiful life others might understand if they felt or feel the same way as I do. Life is truly a mystery to celebrate its existence with love, hope, peace and acceptance in our own lines.
I am so proud of my gifts God bestowed upon me. And I am solid through thick and thin.
Here’s “the 3 keys” for you to collect!
*First Key:
I am very much comfortable living in a bubble that I forgot that I am truly living on a swaying wrecking ball. So sad, I cannot fix what has been broken. The damage has been done, even the strongest bandage cannot mend it.
In a crowded room, where vultures start circling in the circumference, no one is here as a man or a woman: just a boy and a girl. You know what’s crazy? Sometimes, I also play grown up in this game called, “Who Will Last in the Play-Pretend Game”.
In this so-called house that the forefathers built, what a good foundation – everything, everyone gone plastic. The norms? Be mechanical. But here in this place, it’s quite different from that. In case you want to find out, go here. The place is cold but the people here, hmmm… HOT!
*Second Key:
And now here I am, in a place where I can be me, I feel like I can be anything, say anything, try anything or do anything. No witches and wizards to please, just me time doing the things that I really like in the first place – losing myself in a story.
I smell freedom and comfort here. But just when the bell rings, it becomes an alarm clock signal for me to wake up and go back to the real world.
You can find me here, ask the keeper, as my name engraved on the list.
*Third Key:
Finally, you are here. I’m getting used to people leaving me behind. Not literally leaving me behind let me tell you that, but as they have finally seen the greener pasture outside these walls.
I’m happy for them, truly am. However, as they told me that if their doors finally close – the end game of their chapters here, another one will open for sure to be here. And ta-da! Here you are, like a lighthouse; I am seeing the light of the day, again. Ha-ha!
Thank you for being a good mentor and now a friend to me. I did not see it coming, but I am forever grateful for this chance in knowing you more as a person. I am carrying your principle with me as before on becoming and now I am quite like you – a guide, an adviser, a teacher. Your heart, your personality and your passion to do good things and to inspire others are paving the way for me to absorb positive light and hope for tomorrow. And with that, I think, I am on the right track. So, thank you!
At the top of my lungs, I scream In my darkest hours, you are my sunbeam Into the River Lethe, you become my memory For you simply debunk that life is too short for a long story. Around the world in 80 days, seemed not enough to explore you, Against all odds, I swear it on the River Styx to stick with you in a shade of hue. Until the world ends, forever ain’t the word to immortalize you while we’re going down in history.
*Preposition Poem – The poem is a seven line poem, each line begins with a preposition. Authors write about themselves, their feelings and emotions.
Snakes on the floor, on the shiny sparkly floor, trying hard to slither right through you. But let me tell you, I already knew what they do not know. Slick stories soon forgotten on a graveyard of lost things. So, no need a shovel to dig a grave
Crocodile on the river mouth – A pathway where a river flows into the sea, Hungry for a piece of meat. But let me tell you, killing a crocodile is a sign of luck. Worries are over and so as danger. Do not trust crocodiles, If you crossed one: be wary.
Vultures start circling in the air, Like you are the subject of gossip and slander. They might be in control of the weather, But let me tell you, They only try to take advantage on what’s readily available. Prepare on what’s coming The storm provides, yet do not be a prey to the death eaters: Use all your senses to the opportunities they hardly navigate.
Poison ivy creeping along the ground, Ingratitude like a parasite Itching on your skin if it touches you But let me tell you, The only way to defeat poison ivy is to dry them out, Never handle them especially by the root or stem They are rashes: avoid them Before it’s too late.
Do not blend, You will turn out to be like them. Bend like you’re unbreakable. But let me tell you, Traitors never win! Let the turncoats switch sides. Think things through; shifting allegiance like Judas does not ring a bell to one’s pure heart.
This one’s for you. It’s okay not to be okay. Go ahead, cry and eat some cake. Never mind the bitter taste.
Just be like, drinking alone in the moonlight Or let it run like a river. Sing your favorite heartbreak tune – our national anthem, Go dancing crazy like Taylor’s or like no one’s watching.
You don’t need a man; You don’t need a woman To satisfy you. Go ahead, do it solo: try a different panache.
Set free from the remnants left on the kitchen floor The tears in the rain will dry soon The scars will become your stars Mark my word: You will be better than fine.
And if they come back like you’re the last option, Raise one finger in the air, Give a blank stare, Walk proudly: they deserve it!
For everyone who’s ever loved someone they weren’t supposed to I know, it is hard at first but the pain imprinted on your skin like a tattoo will be your art, somehow, someday soon.
II
Do not pick up the breadcrumbs unintentionally drop on the road They’re leftovers; no longer edible. Chin up! Do not slouch. Smile, you’re the winner; they’re the loser.
Hear them whine, That’s the job of a swine. Let them mourn for their lost, While you are sitting on a throne made of dime.
If your love was not reciprocated, Flip your hair, don’t give a sigh. Show some tranquility, and never turn back.
Be like a soldier Trained to fight by night Throw the grenade To shut them up in throwing some shade.
Be like a kite Look how high you can fly But always remember to not lose grip on the string in your hands As you look back when you fall.
For everyone who’s ever loved someone they weren’t supposed to: You are not alone. Let’s circumnavigate Bermuda Triangle Not to be puzzled, but to celebrate the mystery of life.
Heads up! Be gay! Together, let’s get out from the blue bed of lies. It’s time to stop the rain from falling.
The guy I have never met in my existence. The guy who are just standing there, yes, just standing there with his eyes mysteriously and nonchalantly talking to you to come near him and join him on the abyss of nowhere where light versus dark phenomenon existed – echoing like cacophony, but a beautiful disaster; a beautiful trauma for me. What does this dream imply? Who is this guy? Why does this guy keep on coming back to me – IN MY DREAMS? Is this a constant reminder of something? Mmmhhh… Hideous? Appealing? Bane? Boon? Is this a loop that I must figure out the connection between me and him? Or is this a sign?
All my life, I have never felt a dream that consciously bothering me, that keeps me awake in the middle of the coldest night. A guy in between average and model–like physique (as what I remember about him), bright blonde yet short curvaceous hair, mystique foreign face, sun kissed skin (probably because of the sunny weather), rosy lips like Boselli, an aquiline nose like Harry and eyes bluer than the Circassian sea like Percy is looking at me (like I am a piece of meat, I guess) as the motion of the sea and the dancing coconut trees acting like a Morse code signaling you to come near him. His smile, not catatonic, but a lavishing expression of singularity (in a good way), alluring you like two magnets perfectly destined to match. The effervescent of the light surrounding the guy in a neon classic garments in a summer beach (to hell the place, I do not know) is somewhat magical in the eyes of many circling around him. How can you escape in that charm when you are enchanted by his appearance? The parallelism of our differences seems like a gateway of a mutual understanding of two atypical worlds – the upside down.
Perplexing thoughts billowing amidst the certainty of the great unknown. But there’s nothing settled in a place called dream, for it is only just a dream. A loop kind of a dream wherein I keep on coming back in time where I met him. But just when I grabbed the opportunity to go near him (wherein I run swiftly towards him), that’s when the guy disappeared like tears in the rain slowly evaporating in the air. Then, I woke up hyperventilating that it seemed like the oxygen that I breathe made me dizzy. And yet, here I am, trying to sleep back again hoping I could go back to the place I met him.
To the guy I met in a dream: if you are real, I would very much like to meet and talk to you for I need answers to the questions hounding in the back of my mind. If you are real, I need to see you. If you are real, I got to find you, so that the war in me will come at peace and I will stop contemplating and going crazy pondering that you are just a subtle reminder of a smoke and mirrors. You are such a dream to me!
But until then (if I could go back), I would definitely like to see you in my dreams, again and again… and again.
We all have stories to tell. We can be bad or good in someone else’s stories. Yet, we are all stories in the end. Like burning pictures turned into ashes as the photographer grieving for his lost. Yes, we are all stories in the end.
And I’m dead. This is my eulogy to the old me.
Hearing dirty stories, hearing wildfire lies or hearing fragments from the fabricated printed receipts is something besieging on your party like a rain that is non-stop, malevolent, eerie and appalling. With their definitive faces and transitioning faces on how they connect with the absolute bubble bursting in the air encouraging you to join with the heist and be one of their culprits – nothing is ever undertaken in a pinky swear of an idyllic childhood. And then, they were like: upon getting a glimpse of your past transcending to your future, they turned to face you, eyes appraising, eyes assessing, eyes reading – running up and down and then up and down again with their usual tricks about dealing with cards or they’re like paparazzi binding stories with their binoculars all up in the headlines; and you’re in a hot water again. Truly, rumors fly.
I hate to say this, but this is why we can’t have nice things. And I’d rather go pshawed and fied on anyone who disagrees! This is how the world works. No more burying the hatchets from now on, for I will be going to rain on someone’s parade. Like burning witches on the witching hour, slaying dragons with their two-faced behind burqa, hunting vultures and lively kissing fish whisperers as the leaves telling the wind to contaminate the air, well, I am your nightmare and it’s time for me to say, “checkmate” as the time will be my ultimate truthteller while you are trying to recycle wasted time. And I cannot wait to see you manipulating your failing game bending and mending the brokenness of that fractured bone as if it heals in an instant antidote of articulation. Brace for the fall!
The old me has gone. Feel the heat of the brand new me. See the role you made me play! The “he said, she said” becomes an epitome of my venting computer-generated veracity. Mic dropping on the floor. Throwing stones on the pedestal. Washing the dishes made from stain. And I will never gonna bring a knife to a gun fight; for I will make sure that will you know that it was I who made this end. Et tu brute to the pretenders! Here comes the lightweight. Run!!!
I smell your colors. Scattered with ink of different personalities beyond imaginary lines I hoped to be extraordinary but brutally unstable. I have seen you from a far. I have seen your art – your stain. I can still see you. You can’t hide on me.
You put a number on me. Stabbing me. Pulling me. Shading me. Changing summer into winter. Hanging me from your tree of unhappiness wondering what it is I’m looking for or what is in store in your mind, In your heart, In your head, In your soul.
How famished you are in the dark! Are you hungry for more? ‘cause you keep on coming back for more! Plagiarizing terms of your creator like saying, “Hey! Whatever, I invented you!” No acknowledgement needed. No credits. No shoutouts. Nothing.
Just a juvenile scam; never a quitter. A camouflage. A copyright infringement intended. Just pretenders and sirens. Boom… gone. We moved on. Who’s laughing now? I gotta laugh! Leaving you with my permanent mark.
“Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton”
Through this blog, I want to commemorate those moments, memories, opportunities, learning experiences and many many things I could not hope and imagine for that I considered a happenstance in my life. I will be forever grateful to the gifts God bestowed upon me and by that, I would like to share it with you through my art. May this art be an instrument of light, hope and love.
The Written Enochian Code of an Imperfect Angel 