These passing days, reflections aren't the same anymore
My eyes stared back at the eyes of the people inside the room
And there, I cannot see the person
Stood with them in front
Who's the delicate, who's smart, who's kind?
I don't think I see
What I aspired to see
For everybody had put droplets
of sweat of mine and drank it
as if it's the whole liter of water inside
And I wasn't sure anymore
What droplets are safe to swallow
In this color of ocean
I want to dive from
But everybody's not coming with my shadow
So in this shallow, shallow, sea
I drowned myself an imagination
Of who I would become really
I, without looking anyone behind
I, without tracing the footsteps
of my companion, heating under the shore
I, who am I
Powerful with only I?
I, as a praying girl looking at the sky
I, as a staying up student awaiting for the sun
I, as holding my parent's hands
I, as I wipe someone's tears
And as I float, again from the oceanic crust
I am not I without anyone around
I am I, maybe because you are you
And that is I, for the ocean contacting
against my skin
It is I, it is still I, distorted, but it is I
For wholeness doesn't mean it's me
And brokennes doesn't mean it is not I
Completely,
Shh shh... the waves came back
Telling me, it is no one, but I
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
