via Daily Prompt: Instinct
I don’t share my grief with people.
Call it instinct. Or call it pride.
Show of sympathy by others when I’m grieving is just that – a show. “I understand what you’ve been through…” No, you don’t. You are just trying to make me feel better, which I appreciate, but the words you speak are as genuine as Donald Trump’s tan.
When I’m grieving, leave me to myself. If you want to help, make a cup of tea.
Don’t give me the “There is a life after death”, “It was meant to be” bullshit. Please.
I may not be an adult, but that doesn’t mean you need to dumb down serious things like death for me. If it hurts, it hurts. No two ways about it.
I like my tablets like I like my words – without sugarcoating.
Strange, how I never saw you
For who you were
And you never saw me
For who I was.
Your elegant handwriting
Is imprinted in my mind.
Like leaves between the pages
Of a book that was left behind.
The sounds the keypad made
When I dialled your number
Ring as fresh and familiar
As the rhythm of my heart.
Your jibes, your taunts,
Your needs, your wants
Get drowned in the memory
Of your tinkling laughter.
Strange, how time can make
Hell seem beautiful
As if it were viewed through
Lovely Google Doodle here
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
The first work of Shakespeare’s that I read was an abridged version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, back when I was eight. I remember being enthralled by the beautiful name of the play. Whoa, I thought. Think about combining midnight and summer.
Then, the sheer number of characters attracted me: Titania, Puck, Oberon. And the love quadrilateral with people of similar names. I remember having a headache trying to differentiate between Hermia and Helena, and their confusing loves. A petty eight-year-old, no wonder.
Now, I’m much older, and having read some more Shakespeare (and other authors), I feel that an average human lifespan is not enough to appreciate his insight into life.
Here’s to a happy 400 years of peace and quiet to William Shakespeare. You will love long in our hearts. You have lived quite long there, actually. Whatever.
That’s pretty deep.
Because it’s not the fall that kills you, Sherlock. Of all people, you should know that, it’s not the fall, it’s never the fall. It’s the landing!
– Jim Moriarty from Sherlock
She thought it was flight,
So she flew with delight.
But she soon lost sight
And fell into the night.
Slowly, the rancid smell
Crept up her nose.
Slowly, the claustrophobia,
Swallowed her soul.
With fear in her eyes
And pain in her voice,
She was too late to realise
That she had landed in her pit of lies.
Rushing into the ghostly arms
Of dark-robed Sleep.
Seated on a shadowy throne,
Engulfing me with dreams.
No other way to relieve myself,
No other way of escape.
No other way to run from the horror
Sleep is my only getaway.
A pretty sleepy response to Poetry 101 Rehab. Goodnight, sleep tight!
Chocolates, cakes, and candies,
Are bitter in front of your friends’
Sugar-coated lies that never fail
To charm you.
Really, is sugar that important
To you in life?
Doesn’t it cause decay and rot,
In its wake?
A bit of bitterness
Won’t harm you.
Rather, it will help you see,
The harsh reality of life.
So come on, wake up,
Chuck your sugars out of the window,
For sometimes, it is better to be bitter,
Than regret for believing in sugary lies.
In response to Mara Eastern’s sweet Poetry 101 Rehab.
Hiding behind a façade,
Of artificial smiles,
Changing myself drastically.
I’m sick of this feeling
Of altering my thoughts,
But I cannot gather courage,
To rip of my mask.
I shall not wear this mask anymore!
I shall show my true face!
I’ll be the best I can be!
An this will be my final masquerade!
I won’t pretend!
I won’t flatter the world anymore!
I shall be who I want to be!
And this will be my final masquerade!
Inspired strongly by Given Up and Final Masquerade by Linkin Park and Mara Eastern Poetry 101 Rehab.