THE BEAUTY

She’s just another plastic Barbie

Crying just so the world could see

Wanna scream out look at me

A Plastic Barbie

A Plastic Barbie

Don’t you wanna look just like me

With my face all made up

With my clothes thin and trimmed

Heels to sheer perfection

Barbie, she’s an everything girl

Blowing out kisses to the world

Everyone knows she’s an everything girl

Barbie smiles

And there’s no doubt

Barbie is everyone-loved.

 

Our ugly/pretty selves

IT’s always like this. I eat. I can’t finish my food. Then, my mom would say, there are so many other people in the world that don’t have and need the leftovers on my plate. It always made me feel so guilty. I don’t feel guilty for wasting the food, but for not wanting the food that billions of children my mom described, want. It made me wonder, would they be angry at me if they know I wasted so much food that they had wanted and needed so badly? I would be. If I was one of them I would be so angry. Then, this is the part that I loathe myself for; I would carry on and waste the food. My brain would automatically switch to not my fault mode and think that overeating isn’t going to compensate the lack of food of the billions of others out there. It’s surprising how selfish I can be, but it is true that it wouldn’t help and stuffing the food down is only going to serve one purpose--- to make myself feel better. That in itself is actually a completely selfish act, isn’t it? And so is doing any good deed at all par se, some part of the act serves the purpose of boosting our own morals, making ourselves think that we are good people when in fact we are selfish people. People can deny it, but everyone knows, it is to some degree, true. Yes, it is ugly. The truth. But that too doesn’t give us the excuse to not do any good deeds at all. Sure, we do them to better ourselves, but if it does spread happiness and love to other people, then why the hell not?

Love in itself is selfish.

We are all selfish.

But we are all selfish together, so in another perspective, we are too, all selfless.

As I have said before, we live in a world of paradoxes.

And I think that this is the best one.

How I would categorize feelings

First, it has to be EMPTY

Then, SAD comes along

After her, ANGRY marches his way down.

I’m not too sure where HAPPY goes yet.

I’m figuring that part out.

Real

What can I say? I’ve never known what to say.

I’ve always wanted to know how real feels like. I don’t think how I am living, how I am interacting with people feels real. It’s not really real. I don’t know how real feels like. I don’t think I am real. What I have now, it feels nice but other times it feels bad, like I don’t know who I really am. It’s like we are all in a play, acting like other people for different scenes, feel like how the directors want us to feel. Sad. Angry. Happy. These are the main ones. But one emotion they don’t tell you to feel is empty. It’s an important one but I guess they don’t tell you to feel that one because it is already with us and it is what we feel most of the time.

So I guess I am fake. Then we are all fake too, aren’t we? If we don’t know what is real, then how can we be real? How can we be something we don’t know?

It may be the truth, me being fake, but I don’t feel good admitting that. Fake always seem like a bad thing. So does that mean that if I am fake, that I am bad? Maybe. However, the good thing is I have the impression that I could possibly become real down the road. I think I can live with that. I think I’ll be okay now. Then, when I’m old and wrinkled, I’ll be real and I’ll be happy. And I think that is the most important.

The stuffed rabbit asked, “What is real?”

And the rabbit asked, “Does it hurt?”

The horse said, “sometimes”                    - Quote from a children’s book
- quote from a book

Her Kind

She has a kind of beauty

The kind not many look for

The kind of beauty that rocks you to sleep

The kind of melody that will be playing long after the end

The kind that hushes your cries, oh sweet lullaby

The kind of breeze that grace past pink cheeks

The kind of bittersweet that sits on your tongue

The kind of sadness that stays after the tears

The kind of smile that smells like the summer

She has that kind of beauty

The kind you never can forget.

Rants of a prematured teen.

The way things are now, is incredibly complicating. But of course, everything is never simple and nothing is ever complicated. That’s a problem. We live in a world of paradoxes. So many things do not---- and no matter how much you try--- will never make sense. And trying to understand is just another headache. You need to put in effort. Ugh, that’s too much you are so desperate.

Dear lord, when has it come to this? When have words been distorted and broken into the sad excuse of a mess they are today? Where has true meaning, soulful and heartfelt passion gone to? Apparently, the glorious beauty of words that dance together on paper has been beaten down to a rugged and crouching limp. It beauty is an endangered species only to survive in a gifted few.  And even then, they would risk being lost to the tweeting crowd of today. It is terribly upsetting and I truly hope i am wrong. I hope we would find true art and beauty that would never be deemed as ‘trying too hard’. Because we have something so precious with us that most of us don’t even understand--- the ability to express ourselves truthfully and passionately. When that happens, no one can ever think that what is said is a lie or pretentious. I firmly believe that something stripped down and honest can never be ugly or boring.

The times

We live in good times; we live in bad times.

We grew up and suffered nothing.

We grew up, but our minds are left empty

We grew up, clothed and fed proper

We grew up, always with a tinge of melancholy

We grew up, never hungry

We grew up, never understood hunger

We grew up, never thirsty

We grew up and drowned ourselves with tears.

We live in good times

We live in bad times.