The Voice

Learn to trust your voice

the sound that only your ears can hear,

the voice who says, “go on, find yourself,”

the voice that starts rumbling,

rumbling into the vastness of words.

Learn to trust your voice

the hoarse voice saying, “I can!”

the voice that keeps you awake at day,

the voice that reminds you when to eat and when to stop,

stopping at the beat of the heart.

Learn to trust the voice,

the stutter, the whisper,

the stopping, the breathing,

the pulling of syllables out of your mouth,

the beating and the leaving of words.

Be heard.


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Right Here

I stopped telling myself to write,

Write words that don’t resonate;

Write words that sound like a gong, empty and only echoes.

 

I stopped telling myself to force life,

Force life to give the greatness I’ve always wanted.

Because life will not give me my heart.

 

I stopped telling myself to stop trying,

Stop trying to live and be alive,

Stop trying to give life.

 

I start telling myself to write words,

To write words that define the soul,

To write words that sound like a real voice.

 

I start telling myself to let life,

Let life give the pinch of hope I always need for greatness,

Let life seethe through my vein.

 

I start telling myself to truly live,

Truly live in the moment

Because right here, right now, is where I am alive.


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Learn To Be

Learn to be alone,

to love the silence.

Learn to hit the rock bottom

and stand up again.

Learn to heal the brokenness yourself

alone and quiet.

Learn to know when to stop

be still and restart.

Learn to cry out loud

and laugh and sigh.

Learn to live for yourself

find within the joy you’ve lost

from looking for temporary happiness.


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It’s Time

It’s time to grow outside, little rose.

Don’t let your thorns bind you inside.

 

It’s time to fly, little bird.

Don’t let the high fool you.

 

It’s time to laugh, sad clown.

Don’t let your mascara tears flow ‘til it drown you.

 

It’s time to be you.


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26

I hold her hand not knowing what is in store for me. She is leaving. She is leaving  me now. She is leaving me for good. I couldn’t fathom what she is thinking. I could not see it in her eyes. Part of her is clouded by darkness. A cloud that seems to embody her life. A cloud, for what I know, is her.

I am used to leaving. I am used being left out. But today, her leaving is something I couldn’t comprehend. The only person who knows, who cares, finally going somewhere where I could no longer go.

I knew her, she wouldn’t say anything unless being asked. I knew her, she wouldn’t dare to stare on anyone’s eyes for long time because she might be read. Today, I don’t know her anymore. She is no longer the girl I ought to know. She is now a puzzle. Her leaving is a puzzle.

Or maybe not. There are certain feelings I know I feel but still deny their existence. And her leaving is one of them. The feeling of holding on is what I am feeling right now. But she knows what is best for me. She knows what I need to be. She knows in her leaving, she can finally set me free.

She says, “you will not be the same person again as yesterday.” I say, “why? Because you are leaving?” “Yes,” she utters as resounding as it may get, “I am the only one who is holding you back.” “It is okay, I can still contain you.” “No, you can’t!” “Yes, I can?” It is more of a question than a conviction. “I am now your past and I could no longer be with you tomorrow. Stop patronizing me as if you live for me. I am the past. I could no longer step in this moment.”

And when she said that, I understand, I could no longer be her.

Today, she turns her back. I turn mine. No looking back is what my mind is telling me. But I look back, and saw her and all the darkness. I look back, I saw me, my younger self, walking silently.

She’s right, I am now free. I am free from all those memories of the past. I am free of her, the only baggage I have since. But, she is also wrong. I am not the only one who is free, but also her. She can finally roam around without thinking of me, of her future. She can finally walk around, without the worry of time passing by her. She can, for once, enjoy her moment. And I could enjoy mine.

-FIN-


So, it’s been a long time since I have written something like this, a flash fiction. But that is not the point of this entry.

The point of this blog post is to have a birthday blog post. Every year, I celebrate my birthday by writing something: may it be the lessons I’ve learned throughout my existence, or things I love doing or anything under the sun, sometimes, I share funny GIFs. However, for this year’s birthday blog post, I want to share something poetic, because I am a frustrated writer/poet/philosopher. Haha (and that isn’t funny at all).

The flash fiction you just have read is something dear to me. So, hopefully, you enjoyed!

Also, I will be inactive this coming days, weeks or months. I will be focusing on something I have planned since day 1 of this year. But I will be posting here and there from time to time.

‘Til next time!

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How can I trust a lying tongue?

A word misled the heart

tearing the only part that I couldn’t live without.


This is the effect of wandering and wondering neurons.

Photo: theroseshed.co.uk

Last Goodbye

Goodbye to you

You’ve been standing in front for this long

You’ve choked the life inside

But you’ve never passed the holy light.

 

Goodnight to you

The dust above the head

The creature under the bed

Farewell to you, so long!

 

This is the last goodbye

Hoping you settle somewhere else

Hoping you will not come by

again in this beautiful sunrise.


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Monachopsis


​I am out of place
Out of mind

Out of this world

But I am inside.
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———-

Reading the notes in my phone, then I stumbled to this. Well, I can’t quite remember where I was coming from when writing this Monachopsis thing. Maybe I was feeling out of place that time. Maybe I wanted something but things weren’t going as planned. Or maybe just maybe, I wanted to let go of some things in life. Whatever it is, I am quite sure I already get pass that.

Why Do We Write?

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Sometimes, we just want to make sense of all the thoughts inside our heads. Yet, conversations with people aren’t enough and most of the time superficial. So we seek an outlet to let all the words out. We grab our pens and bleed words we badly want to utter. We write until words run out and the only thing that remain is the bleeding. No, not the physical bleeding or the tangible one but the bleeding that flows inside us – the bleeding of hope.

In writing, we can discover a new found hope. A hope that someday, someone can hear us out… can hear the voices inside our minds… can hear the words we want to say but can’t utter. A hope that someday, we can hear our own… we can stop the shouting voices in our minds… and we can finally utter the words we badly want to say.

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