ugly

you want me to seal these lips from the world;

so you can rise from my silence

you call me weak

so you can stand tall on false righteousness.

I will bot be tamed to be the woman you enslave with your pious approval

beauty isn’t something foreign to my repertoire

You just shamed me into painting it ulgy

We could die, anytime

At any given moment, we could die.

There could be an accident, a crash, the whole word could explode.

The worst part would not be dying

it would be

dying with the regret and saying

“I wish I did that…”

Live your life to the fullest!

Purpose of Poetry

Poetry is putting a diaphanous veil over something unappealing, speaking regarding it just subdued enough to put into oblivion how abraded and festering and suppurate the wound is.

It’s a language of emphasizing inspiration, subjectivity – of Romanticism and painless augury, full of fanatical sentimentalism and compelling twists of the tongue.

Metaphors are hazardous travesty, using a sort of transfiguration to turn wordless sentiment into imaginable circumstances.

The way the anguish rios through yoyr body and flusters your every bones compelling you to envision misery as it pull you down to great depths and choking breaths.

The truth is, poetry is a deceiver, a fibber, an equivocator. Never fall for its exquisitely crafted stanzas causing slips into the dense fog of nostalgia.

Skeleton in the Closet

Let me tell you a secret.

It doesn’t matter how bad you think you are at something. There’s always going to be someone who loves what you create. In the same breath, it doesn’t matter how good you think you at something.

There’s always going to be someone who hates what you create. You don’t need to be everyone’s cup of tea. Everytime you pick up that pen or that brush or whatever it is, you’re improving. There’s no way for you to get worse.

So there’s no absolute point in quitting.

If you’re in it to please everyone.

You might be doing something wrong.

FIND JOY IN EVERY SINGLE DAY

“The happiest is the person who suffers the least pain; the most miserable who enjoys the least pleasure.”

                            -Jean Jacques Rousseau, Emile (1762)

We all suffer something in our lives and sometimes, we becomes miserable to the point of thinking that living this life isn’t worth it anymore.

When we speak of “the good life”, what we mean by that is a life where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, the natural becomes miraculous, and the everyday becomes unique.

The everyday may seem to be made up only of small things, but let us believe in details. Every time we choose to embrace life, we are putting our best and truest face forward.

Have a nice day! 🙂

Masterpiece

right at this moment,I am an awful masterpiece
left here to be
glanced back on and reconsider.
Enthusiastically as I may try
I’m not the muse the poet speak of
Not made up of the deep body of water, waves or tides, no
My ribcage does not whisper to my lungs,
And my heart is not a precious diamond.
It will at all times be a weapon
more than anything.
I am a vague masterpiece
full of striked out words and evolution
no one ever calls a draft alluring- beautiful.
why can’t I be the last piece?
Perhaps someday, somebody out there will.