[3rd place at TPC Annual Awards 2020;
adjudged on the basis of poems 00 to 08]
"Relearning and revival,
Visions and revisions.
No more ephemeral, forever eternal."
Evolution does not occur overnight.
It occurs one mistake and one epiph...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
//careless attempt at prose poetry
I like to believe. A thought so imperceptible, so terribly minute, yet so perfectly capable of showing me that I still have chances.
I'm meant for something better, I'm told. People believe I can truly have the best of times if I'm willing to. That I need to know anybody and everybody around me, that I need to skip and run and giggle softly and crack good jokes and fall in love and bask in the plethora of feelings.
I do try. I've skipped and done some running, I've tried giggling softly, I've tried to get someone to listen to me or look at me, I've tried to bask in feelings, take in the moment.
But skipping isn't my cup of tea, for it only opens up bruises of the past, ruining the peach of my knees to a shocking brown. Running isn't the right decision, because I'm chased perpetually by little monsters supposedly residing under the beds of naughty kids. I tried to giggle but it only broke out into an ugly chortle, and I was told to smile less because I did so too often. I tried to enjoy my life and bask in the feelings, but all I swam in was a pool of guilt and a sea of ignorance.
Weren't the monsters supposed to remain under my bed? Why chase me- I haven't been naughty.
I guess naughty kids are kids who aren't happy. Kids who don't value themselves. Kids who yearn for love but do nothing to earn it.
I guess a naughty kid like me just wants to be loved, even if I'm naughty and not supposed to deserve it.
But, can you really blame me? I used to love myself. The monsters under my bed told me I'm not worth caring for.
Not under my bed, but in my head, in my surroundings, embedded in my consciousness, hiding in my unconsciousness.
The monsters told me I can't be loved because I'm naughty.
Oh, what a lovely thought.
A thought, initially imperceptible, terribly minute, now so perfectly capable of wiping out my existence.
I'd rather not think.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
