Losing Senses

Silenced by Expectations.
Blinded by Rage.
Deaf to Advice.
Numbed from Pain.
Taste of Bitterness.


Smells like Teen Spirit.

Life is...

Unfair.
Tasked to carry out duties of a grown man.
I am but a mere woman who is forced to grow balls of steel.

Contradictory.
You give me tons of excuses why you cannot.
Yet time and again, your actions prove to me you can.

Unappreciated.
My hard work is always not acknowledged.
People in authority expects me to work a miracle.

Taken for granted.
Nobody cares about how I would feel.
Everybody just assumes I am okay with their decisions.

Tough.
Especially when I am an Asian kid growing up with Asian parents.
When doing what I believe in and being different are seen as acts of rebellion.

If you are not going to open your heart to listen,
And choose to ignore my cries for attention,
Then I will hurt you with my actions.

I am a boiling cauldron of negative emotions,
Threatening to spill over
And burn everything in my path.

Murder's on the Menu

A Man and his Lady
Both dressed to the nines,
Walked hand in hand
Into a restaurant to dine.

Having showed them their table,
Then placing the menu in plain sight,
The Waiter took a step back
And waited for the couple to decide.

"What shall we have?
What would you like?
What do you think
We should choose from the menu tonight?"

"How about bitter Caustic Remarks for starters
Tossed with some Acerbity?
And a bottle of dry Deceit
Would wash them down nicely."

"Later for the mains we'll have
A medium-rare Sabotage in caramel sauce,
With dozens of roasted Plagarism
And grilled Manipulation to finish off."

"For dessert, a generous slice of Backstabbing
Drowned in thick creamy Bootlicking,
Topped off with a sprinkle of Perverse Nature
Is a must, to end our night perfectly."

Having jotted down the couple's order,
The Waiter retreated to the kitchen.
He staked the paper on the counter
On which the word 'Murder' was written.

The Drought

The rain poured.
The river raged.
The water rose.
The dam broke.

The earth nourished.
The birds sang.
The crops flourished.
The people danced.

The Sun shone.
The clouds drank.
The river slowed.
The water sank.

The earth baked.
The birds parched.
The crops scorched.
The people prayed.

Yet,
The rain would not pour.
The river would not rage.
The water would not rise.
The broken dam had nothing to hold.

Foolish Assumptions

What makes you think,
You could see the world through my eyes?
Is it because you are richer?
Is it because you wield more power?

What makes you think,
You could walk the world in my shoes?
Is it because you are wiser?
Is it because you fit in them better?

What makes you think,
You could experience the world in my skin?
Is it because you are superior?
Is it because you feel much deeper?

What makes you think,
You could move the world with my words?
Is it because you know better?
Is it because you have vocabulary that is wider?

What makes you think,
You could impress the world with my talents?
Is it because you hold exclusive rights?
Is it because you want to bathe in the limelight?

So what if you are richer?
So what if you wield more power?
Yet, you are no wiser.
Neither do my shoes fit you better.

You may act superior.
But, you feel no deeper than a puddle of water.
You claim to know better.
Yet, your lack of vocabulary makes me falter.

Bearing in mind that hogging the limelight,
Does not give you the exclusive rights,
To dictate what to do with my life.
Neither are these excuses,
For you to evaluate my worth.

Cephalgia

Like Horton and the Whos,
There is a Who-ville in me too.
Not on a dust-like planet as before,
But at the back of my head they wage war.

They beat their drums,
And did their dance.
I swear I could really feel,
Them playing with balls of steel.

Against my skull they do pound,
As though they are drilling the ground.
On my sensitive nerves they bounce,
I could only imagine them screaming 'UP!' and 'DOWN!'

It truly isn't much fun,
When you have more than one
Bloody Who in your head
Who made you wish you were dead!

Metamorphosis

Carefree was I,
Exploring recklessly through the thick luscious foliage,
Drunk on tender young greens.

Gluttonous was I,
Gorging shamelessly on all that was offered,
Unaware of the increasing slowdown.

Imprisoned was I,
Hanging dangerously from the thin branch a dead weight,
Bound by finely woven silk strands.

Eager am I,
Stirring restlessly in my silken chambers,
Transformed through continual changes.

Omnipotent will I be,
Breaking and emerging confidently from within,
Where my new-found wings spread,
To carry me.

The Solitary Man

He went to war.
He was wounded.
He turned to her.
She lent a helping hand,
To The Solitary Man.

He shared his interests.
He charmed his way through.
He tried hard to make her happy.
She had fallen hopelessly,
For The Solitary Man.

He talked about riches and bevy of beauties.
He believed in living for the moment.
He showed her their sea of vast differences.
She realised she could not belong,
With The Solitary Man.

She ran.
She stumbled.
She fell into quicksand.
She had just been wounded,
By The Solitary Man.

Insomnia

When I close my eyes,
Millions of annoying what-ifs plague my mind.

What if I did not lie?
What if the feelings do not die?

What if I had been braver?
What if I did not waver?

What if I persisted?
Would You have resisted?

What if I pretended
That You do not matter?
Would things become
Less complicated?