shhhhh-

people ask, people cheat,
finished taking a test, i did well, i know,
she cheats, she asks for the answers, that annoys me,
because i learn, and i proceed with my poetic lines,
i don't ask her to cheat for me,
so why is it then she wants to cheat me
by cheating herself, how much easier would it be if we just learned the data
then there would be no breed of a dependency
thoughts flash through my mind as i remember i need to
gather posters and pictures
perchance that could be requested today, definitely something i will look in to
so many words cascade from my pinay pen and i see myself
feel myself
getting stronger, remembering, recalling, allowing me to come back to life, stronger than ever,
for i see me and i can see the mirror in my eye that i argued so many had overlooked
and i don't mind, because i don't know how much time i have,
so i'll take my time, i have time
no one knows when their time is up
so why waste it on claiming there is no time
my stomach is sore from yesterday's dancing
or should i say emotional exercises of a body and mind
and my pen still wishes to share more with you
shhhhh-

who's call is that?

reluctant, what is reluctant?
advertisement, what to advertise?
why this place we return to and why do i advertise, why so many needs to justify
be careful with a subconscious mind because it absorbs what we didn't think it would,
and it will eat up fallacies of a mind until the causitive is diminished and negativity lurks around every corner, what makes sense?
i'd like to think that i do, but i sit here and just write
would it be better if i read? does reading measure up to be better than writing?
then the readers say the writers are better,
but who's to say, who's call is that?

unethical minds

albeit, this task has been done by me many times
but it never fails to haunt me, those hours and days following, what will become of both of us
what does society say?
i always proceed in a fashion i see fit and i always come out on top
because i stay truthful
and sticking with the truth takes time
and i am strong
so let little foolish tongues ramble on,
we shall see what becomes of all us unethical minds

foolish being

gifts given from the heart are often never forgotten
then there are the words we say to stab other people's soul, there are attempts that we make to wound other people's hearts
the words you say, i know you don't mean
and i know you are acting out of your temper tantrum
why i even deal with your shit is beyond me,
there is no poetic line for you
yes you, a selfish stupid being
and why you got so close to my life bewilders my thoughts
today, on paper, you wrote words to me that most certainly scars an artist
your functions are illogical and come from a place of evil
as heat waves shadow this page calming emotions i now have for you
i look within myself to find an answer
all of what you wrote has been in the air
in my air for so long
and i must do things to better my situation, not fuck it up
what more of a reason do bruises come other than to leave a mark
but only temporary, for i scarred you,
why do i write of your foolish being

immediately

i am not in a better state
the event taking place did just in fact add to my animosity and frustration towards my life and the way things are progressing
the audacity of him to be such an ass, and i know, it was a control issue
but that justification does not excuse the unjust outburst which resulted in the quelling of my phone conversation
damn right i am upset and i don't know what to do but just to write
i'm tired of people acting like assholes and i need to take care of my shit
so don't ever be so fucking rude again, because i will not tolerate your shit
and we need to check courtesy calling
things need to be fixed
there are somethings that need to be rectified immediately

torn

sliding down this inclined plane called depression
my priorities seemed to have floated into the hands of others, as i sit here and realize, i don't want to be a star
yes, i do have conflicting thoughts towards this place where artists gather,
but nay, it is not their fault
it is no one's fault
if there is someone to blame
i would find the culprit to be myself
as they ask me why i am so quiet
i have no response
for exactly that reason, i am quiet
there is nothing to be said

so much on my plate
but many will beg to differ, for there is not enough on my plate
or perhaps what is on my plate, is what i do not hunger for
but i don't even know what i'm ordering
now i hold up the line
so i just order the whole menu
but this does not fulfill me

i don't know what i'm getting at
nor do i know where i'm at now
i know, though, there is no smile on my face
and my mouth has no desire to open
other than to allow smoke to dance from my lips
and behind closed lips my soul screams
for what? i don't know
am i supposed to know? shouldn't i know?

my mother claimed she failed in raising me, she failed she says
what am i supposed to do about that?
how do i rectify that?
she said those stabbing words, but yet we laid side by side on her bed last night
but i failed still
because a 3.5 isn't good enough and the fact that i got a solo and in the spotlight isn't good enough, that i am directing and in a performance piece isn't good enough, that i'm just fucking me,
is not good enough
then my father sits across from me and doesn't want me to work for gloria, my father wants to know what i am to do about my future, my father says i'm not a little girl anymore, my father asks where am i going to go
and isabel asks if the career i'm in is really for me really, and tamrah sprouts out bullshit about how i'm respected and i stomp on people's feelings

what the fuck is good enough?
as i slide further down, i begin to realize whatever is enough, i'm not it
i begin to see some picture clearly, i begin to feel wrong
attempting to block off all sound
i wish for a disaster so i don't have to confront what may not be
what everyone wants of me
not wanting to be the interruption of great possibilities
and wanting to bow out of things i don't really want to be part of
and i still can not block out sound
knowing that this is just the beginning of the sound
yes my priorities have fallen in the hands of others
am i enough?
how did i get myself in a torn state, why am i not good enough to promote

i found a spider on my neck wanting to suck my blood
my thoughts scatter blanketing this page
controlling my handwriting making sure i write in a straight line
avoiding what i really want said

do i want to go to college?
in these last days of 17, what, i ponder, am i to do with my life?
i close my eyes to avoid reality
my body tingles all over
is that supposed to mean something?

back to this environment that offers me nothing
i am trapped, i grow up, but i am still untouchable, can not be touched, can not be admired, can not grow up
can not make a decision for myself
who's fault? as said before
no one's
if someone must be to blame, myself

what am i capable of... everything
(so it's said)
these footsteps i follow are not my own, basically
well obviously not my own
because every time i put my foot in these foot in these footsteps of yesterday, my foot is much smaller than the outline left for me
i'm not sure if this is what i want to do because i want to do it, or if they want me to do it, or maybe they don't want me to do it, it is assumed i want to do it
but i also know if i leave now, i cannot return
i cannot and will not- torn