When the time is passing by,
And the clock is silent in the
room,
No sounds around,
I am still in my right mind?
What came out of soul I bear,
What my fingers guided on the key
board?
Was this truly my state I shared,
Or a mask I comfortably wear?
…
In the countless sleepless nights,
I cried,
To state of uncourteousness I prayed
the pain away,
Tons of words whispered on the
word file,
Some shared, some hidden deep
into the folders of my confessions.
I have tried reflect on what has
been said, on what is written in world wide web,
Yet I feel like an imposter, as
if I am deliberately lost this year,
I keep pretending that the
therapy has helped.
Discouraged of the milestones
left unticked,
The change of plans never
foreseen,
As though my art is nothing
special,
As if my writings are just ashes
in the wind.
I have tried million ways to feel
complete,
I shed my skins like a snake
growing up – agile and adaptable,
Venomous if thread approaches,
ready to attack
But yet my goals are somehow
never close to be realized.
I cannot separate the work from
the hands that wrote it – we have fused into one –
A shade of darkness, a shimmer of
hope, a drop of insecurity, a touch of pain.
Is this what came out of me still
dressed in dimness, longing of what I used to be,
A never ending changeling of
feelings – growing pains we all need?
Ambitious to the core and still
wounded from the staleness of my pace,
Overachiever in the body of a
mortal behind the sheet of paper, fearfully holding the pen.
…
But in the end I am an artist, I can
only carry what is mine –
The pain, the sorrow, the hope
and longing for success.
I am not for everyone and this is
fine… I guess...
My confessions are mine alone –
somewhat tragic, somewhat beautiful, somewhat insane.
I am always ready to showcase my
naked soul
And someone fails to catch what
the lines were reaching for
It was never meant to be for
them.
…
When the time keeps slipping past,
And the clock still refuses to
speak,
No sounds around,
I am still in my right mind?
What came out of soul I bear,
What my fingers guided on the key
board?
Was this truly my state I shared,
Or a mask I comfortably wear?
This duality in me real –
sometimes shaky sometimes steady
Depends on what I want to feel
And if the silence is the ocean surrounding
my island of thoughts and dreams
I prefer it to flood me so I can
swim freely underneath the waves of drafts
Willing to be told in the most
unexpected ways.
