Stairway that leads to 1900's contemporary art.

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Resentment.

I abhor you.
And I mean it through
every explicit syllable.

You are selfish,
You are self-centered,
You are vain.
You are not special.
You are not a spectacle.

You are a time-bomb.
A narcissistic, pseudo-
intellectual. An apathetic
entity, the cancer of society.

Sucking the life out of
you perceived spectators,
through the litany of
your everyday
grievances.

You have the depth
of a mud puddle.
and a mouth
that never sleeps.

The funny thing is
I resent you
and you resent you, too.



// Rants in free-verse?

Replaced.

I have always been fascinated by the past or rather remnants of it. Stored in little cupboards and boxes, left in dark, musty attics. It has always been something that I appreciated. I enjoy tinkering hand me down film cameras with all its dents and scratches, dusting old vinyl albums from my mother's collection, going through yellowed pages of books and magazines, collecting old bills, makeup and trinkets. Back when the internet wasn't a big part of my life, I have never found this odd.

The attraction to the replaced, I have found was quite unusual later in life, having been saturated in popular culture and peer pressure. What pulled me in yet again was the surrealism of it all.

How can I draw nostalgia form things which I have not been born into or accustomed to and use them for escapism?


Precisely because it existed before me.

Most people escape to futures, futures where they would be more than who they are today. I on the other hand, leave for the past unknown to me. To culture left by people on tangible things. Through completely detaching myself to my current identity and reliving what might have been if I were there. These remnants of culture, tell narratives which they have lived through, each contributing to a shared reality that defines an era in society.

This idea of human mortality humbles me. It illustrates my insignificance with no one to tell my story but items left in storage slowly experiencing their own decay. These items will not die with me, but rather continue history intwined with another's whether it be to conquer foreign places or to sit in a cardboard box.

And it is because of this romanticization of human finiteness and the importance of a  tangible legacy that I cling to the promise of a past, that soon I will be handed on to the future.

A Nobody's Opinion on Elections

Election time has come upon us yet again. And the time has come to choose another set of leaders who would best represent us. Yet I feel that as we saturate ourselves inside our social media platforms, we become even more closed-off and separated.

Our social media sites have become a series of hateful, angry posts recklessly strung in a world devoid of accountability. We have become distrusting to our fellow men just because he campaigns a leader different from ours. Everything is assumed to be black propaganda. And when we cannot use reason to voice out our opinion, we dehumanize and deconstruct our opponent to brash utterances, grammatical flaws and physical quirks.

Why do we waste our time fighting each other when we should be monitoring our candidates? We want accountability yet push for a person who allegedly kills his opposers, we want transparency when we can't even condemn the man who has stolen taxes for his own gain, we want change but we can't even change our voting behavior; rooted in traditional politicking, misplaced charisma, perceived popularity of the candidate and regionalism. We want to uphold our rights, but we disrespect each other. And the most ironic of all, we want to impose discipline, when we can't even cross the street properly or avoid throwing derogatory words at that girl who wore shorts on a hot day or that man in that wheel chair. 

We are walking contradictions of our perceived selves. We revel and parade ourselves in the light of self-righteousness. We are right and everyone else is just background noise. 

And if we were to be completely honest, one only wants change when it puts him in a position of power. We are not so different from the politicians we hate.

WV

How could something you have worked hard for be a cause of shame?
We are flopping
Close to the brink of inexistence
Because we don't believe in it

How could other people
believe in its beauty
When we refuse to see it
for ourselves?

Lost,
we are all but rubble
for no action comes from
a mindset that lacks
vision.

Untitled

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A Post from 2012

"Endure."

There is only one way, there are no other options, no other solutions, no shortcuts. It will be tough, it will edge me closer to my limits but I can do nothing but hope for the best and endure. Life happens when we reflect and question ourselves, life happens when we search for answers, life happens when we find our true purpose. Life happens when we become the person we thought we could never be.

Just thought I really had to move on now, everyone seems to be doing it and I know I should too or else I’d be stuck where I am now with no more room for improvement. “Nothing would ever be the same again” are words that I did resent at first but now looking at what might be ahead and the promise that it holds, I’ve actually accepted my fate. Sure it’s not what I really wanted, sure it’s not what I would call perfect but it is what it is. I wouldn’t be able to change it even if I wanted to. But what exactly am I left with? A thoughtless decision made because of other people’s dreams for me and now, it’s bound to drastically change my life. I wanted it enough, I’ve dreamed of it, I’ve prayed for it and now I have to learn from it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that half the battle is knowing the reasons to keep on fighting for it and I will because I have no other choice, I have to endure to succeed.

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Endure was an ode to new beginnings with apprehension. 

It was uncertainty. 

It was me being shoved in a reality that I felt I had no control over.

It was different from what I had envisioned from my life.

Today, I must admit that I am as clueless and as reckless as I was when I wrote this. I am still uncertain, I still am having trouble constructing my life and everyday is a beginning with apprehension. But what these past few years have taught me is that I always, to some degree have control over my reality. I may be shoved into situations that may or may not be due to my actions but I can control me. I can control how I feel, how I react and what I have to do in order to succeed. 

These 4 years have not taught me complacency nor self-assurance but it has taught me to live, day by day. Ready to bend, to fold and to conquer in a 24-hour interval.

You can do it.

Today, I will not fumble with my fingers, would not trip over my words, would not fold with the slightest pressure. I refuse to stay down and I refuse to believe that I have given everything I have to offer. I refuse to be easily manipulated, to be easily dismissed and forgotten.Today, I would bask in everyone’s gaze, would strut with nothing but confidence, would dance to the melody of voices bringing me down, including my own. I will find my own voice, I will find the strength in me, through me and for me.

Today, I am out for b l o o d .

U G L Y .

I wish I was pretty.
Someone who had sunshine for hair
flowing, like waterfalls
escaping her waist.

I wish I was pretty.
Fragile and porcelain
with roses for lips
and eyes full of youth

I wish I was pretty.
collar bones like trenches
to be seized
by wandering arms.

But no.
I am not.

Throwback to cold afternoons and bleached to death hair.

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