At the end of the day, the only person we can truly rely on is ourselves because when others let us down, we must stand to our feet and keep going even if that means we have to walk alone.
I Can Only Be Me...I can only be me.
The best me I know how.
I know I am different from the rest.
It is a struggle I know now.
I just want to be an inspiration.
Share love without the frustration.
Give me a chance to open up.
I am not an open book.
But I swear I always will try to bring to you good luck.
Karma both good and bad.
Knows no bounds, not a fad.
It is the essence of humankind...
So please try all you can to respect the flow of my mind.
Misguided WordsNever tell someone something meaningful if you do not truly mean what you say.
You are only lying.
UnappreciatedNot everyone truly appreciates the gifts and talents we posses.
Some even thrive off of the idea of seeing us fail.
Stuck Sometimes it feels like I am stuck in time.
Like the world around me is fast-forwarding and I am trapped in freeze frame.
CLIQUESI am not oblivious to certain cliques on this website especially within fandoms.
I don't include myself in them anyhow.
I am mostly ostracized from them.
But that is completely fine.
They don't have to like me nor do they have to accept me.
I am not trying to please anyone, either.
I would rather not be apart of cliques anyway.
I am my own person.
I prefer being free.
FRIENDFunny how a person can tell you they are your friend yet are carrying a dagger behind their back ready to stab you in yours at anytime.
WholeIn order to feel like yourself again, you have to step away from the distractions and anguish that are keeping you down. Only then will your mind feel whole again.
2. LoveHow would you identify love?
Is it a feeling? An emotion?
Does it motivate you? Inspire you?
Does it make you happy?
Does it give you the butterfly feeling? (Pardon the cliche)
Does love make your heart jump?
Does it make you feel as if you are floating away?
Oh please do tell of your experience as I have never felt it.
I have never truly felt or experienced love.
Too many times I have been hurt.
Let down, heartbroken, crushed, lied to.
Maybe I only faced the back end of "love".
The end that no one wants any part of.
And yet as my tears fall, they matter not.
They are tears of anguish and heartbreak.
Never of true love. Never of true joy.
So why do I waste my time hoping?
Anticipating that love will find me.
Hope lost and misguided.
Falsely directed, replaced by wishful thinking.
I know it is too good to be true yet somehow I still believe.
Yet only led to more pain and headache.
From my own experiences, love is the coldest day of winter.
It is the hottest day of summer.
1. IntroductionTap tap tap, click click click. Submit.
How fast can you type? Does it matter?
Just as fast as you can type those words, who honestly reads them?
The harsh reality is that on social media we are simply the words we type.
Digital words typed on a pixelized screen.
We have no face.
No identity. No name. No face.
We are words on a screen.
I have had many accounts.
Live Journal, Wet Paint, Facebook, Tumblr, Gaia, Pinterest, Experience Project, DeviantArt...
Have I ever made a difference?
Have I made a breakthrough?
Do I have a lot of friends? Supporters? Followers?
No. What do I matter?
I am only words on a screen.
Invisible to the millions of people amongst the internet.
Only a username.
When I write, draw, express myself, vent, rant.
Who reads what I write?
Who notices what I post?
Who honestly can say they care what I say?
Unwatched, unfollowed, unwatched, unfollowed over and over.
I have become numb to the pain of rejection.
It has become familiar with me as well.
CultistOne day, we’ll worship rust
and marvel how it claimed
the world of industrious metal,
leaving nothing but slowing
reddening struts, half-hearted
angles reaching outward.
We’ll dive into the wrecks
looking for half-sparking wonders
that, when properly restored, gleam
into sputtering song or splitting
pictures of different worlds
and the faces of old Gods.
Who will perform the autopsy?There is a forest painted in
scorching red, fire blooming
beneath its dirt-caked skin,
smoke skimming leaves
as plumes of flame snicker
behind the tail of a doe.
Coals coating tree-trunks,
hungry for life, it devours
the same way they ravaged her
when she said 'no'.
Bright eyes morph into murkiness
as the inferno marches.
When rust washed down
her throat, she did not scream,
only begged for them to stop.
Beneath the ash,
they find her body.
RecipeYou said you like your girls
a little psychotic
with a dash of instability,
so I showed you my recipe
with shaky, bloody hands.
Clothes were discarded
and you broke my rib cage open
and shoved a needle full of cyanide
i n m y l u n g s.
(Your insanity was my life support
and I lived off of your insidious words.)
And just as I made friends
with the Grim Reaper,
you abandoned me
and said I was too fucked up for you.
How ironic is it
that my creator
was terrified of me?
He said he liked his girls
a little morbid
with a dash of insanity
so I cut my chest open
and showed him my p o i s o n - f i l l e d l u n g s.
He grabbed my barely-beating heart,
caressed my sunken cheeks
and said, "This is all I care about."
Wasted FleshFlesh, flesh,
Such wasted flesh...
This able-bodied meat.
Defiled by drugs and impurities.
A mind born with clarity,
Yet so blatantly abused.
No harm did you suffer;
Other than harm self inflicted.
Disregarding the hopeless gazes,
Of those who were born without.
No good, no good;
This I cannot abide...
I shall take this flesh from you,
And it shall be tended and made anew.
A gift to those who are deserving,
Of the very gifts you cast aside...
Now then, my dear,
Do stop your screaming.
It will only be painful,
Until your heart stops beating.
- Word of Chen, 1/6/2016
Is It Love?If I hugged you,
would you never let go?
If I kissed you,
would you cherish that moment?
If I reached for your hand,
would you take mine gently?
If I needed a shoulder,
would you let me cry on yours?
If I needed to talk,
would you really listen?
If I needed to scream,
would you do it with me?
If I needed to go,
would you come with me?
If I fell for you,
would you catch me?
or just let me hit the pavement?
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
The Church of Self-LoathingAs the candles raze the air to illuminate flaws for his inspection, I confess a horror as I realise that the Minister wears my face. He preaches with my swollen tongue and carves a judgemental scowl into my forehead at the sight of me.
He demands a blood sacrifice; a distorted evolution of self-flagellation. He wants my contrition and I want absolution from the sin of being alive. I manage not to flinch at this decree with a well-practiced reverence. I genuflect, draw my sleeves to half-mast in a silent salute to his dominion over me, and wash up to my elbows as best I can in the blinding black. Blood pools between stony-faced onlookers diluted with the sacrament of self-loathful tears, the only testament to my belief: “I am not worthy”.
Black EyeThe sense of dread you instill with your look
makes millions quake as if the whole Earth shook.
The world is well aware of the moves you make
But it’s impossible to predict the form it’ll take.
Their sharpest of scholars can’t cleave your disguise,
but I see the darkness that is haloed in your eyes.
Like an inbound disaster you deliver despair
when upon the land you fixate your stare.
Your visage is venom; there’s no point in hoping
that the people can rest with your black eyes open.
With fear as your feed, your appetite amplifies,
and I see the darkness that is haloed in your eyes.
Your timeline, your being, is immersed in obscurity
‘cuz a black eye needs no light to see.
It’s only when you surface to prowl for prey
those opaque orbs emerge to blot out the day.
I see the darkness that is haloed in your eyes;
the shadowed glare that hides your lies.
I sense the sickness plastered oln your face
and know how it spreads with its fetid embrace.