I am None.

If this is my time, take me now.

I’ve only felt this moment in my bones,

Deep within my filaments,

In every corner of my very Dark.

And when you take me,

I want to feel the terror of my soul,

Tearing from every corner it had once been crafted to.

I want to feel every inch of every wince of every cut.

And I only deserve more.

Do not let me rest,

Do not let me breathe,

Do not let me hold on to a stretch of a single line of happiness—

I deserve less.

And take this as the message of my parting:

I am sorry, but do not forgive me.

I’ve done so many wrongs,

And I’ve hurt too many Rights,

I’ve broken so many hearts,

And I’ve mended no bonds.

I’ve been a Wrong, and I’ve lived as a Wrong,

I am sorry for all that I have done, but please do not forgive me.

When my funeral comes, you may let me rot.

You may burn my photographs, and all my clothes

You may destroy my bedroom; you may burn my books.

You may burn my sheets and all my pillows.

Take my terrible poetry, and all my stories and throw them away.

Because I have treated those that I have loved,

Like I’ve never loved them at all.

And I yelled, and I broke, and I put no blame.

And I am lesser than less, and I will love you in my death.

So in this parting, and after reading this:

I hope you understand,

That I am I’m sorry for loving in all the wrong ways.

So if it is my time, please take me now.

The Castle of Glory

I’ve said it a thousand times. It’s a spark; A heartbeat; A melody; A thousand raindrops meeting gravel; The hug of the wind.; The music in laughter; and a thousand more the-s. It’s what keeps us centered and whole. What makes us look more than up, and never down.  It’s what we’re always born with and who we are—Our dreams. As corny as it may sound, it’s true, at least to me. Our dreams are somewhere there inside all of our cores, and what we do, is we build a castle out of it—an entire reign—and then we suddenly separate it from our reality. We start talking about how heavy and loaded and absurd and difficult it is. So we just keep it there.

And we do nothing.

But we still never stopped talking about it. We still talked about this and that and how it might come to be, and how maybe, just maybe it could be possible, and for a second we believed! Then, we would just let rain pour down our reign, and we would let it take our castle away, as if all of our hope and work were built with paper.

But we still kept our dreams there inside and we never spoke about it ever again, we only let it guard us from our reality. So all we could do is stay enveloped and encased in a wall of maybes and mights.

Because we got scared and it was like the world’s most powerful fuel didn’t course through our blood because we can dream. We got terrified, and we hid, without realizing our power, and it was disgusting; Completely revolting to hold back The Castle of Glory because someone said no.

And now I don’t want to sit back and watch anymore. I don’t want to look inside my head, when I can bring my light forth, because I have light inside of me. We all do. And we’ll never be afraid ever again. We’ll never lose our light because others had lost theirs. We’ll sparkle and we’ll glisten, and we’ll sing, and we’ll dance, as our dreams become our reality, and we’ll dance again, and we’ll sing again, and we’ll glisten and sparkle again, because we dreamt and we dream and we’ll dream.

To The Very End.

I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve lived in a class filled with a bundle of eighteen girls., who all weren’t as close as your dream class would be, but not as apart as your reality would be either. I mean, we didn’t always get along, and there were even moments when we couldn’t stand each other. But there were still our times, when at the end of it all, we never let each other go. Maybe there were clashes and arguments, but isn’t that what sisters do sometimes? Isn’t that what a class filled with eighteen girls who had known each other for a year, others for three, and most for ten?

We’ve watched each other grow, and unveil into something static, and incredible, and euphoric, and it’s wondrous. All quiet incredible to be in a class filled with girls who not only look, but see and understand each other’s presence. We were never really bound by the bond of mere classmates, because if that was so, we wouldn’t have all wholeheartedly set our hearts into creating our own holidays in the midst of a very busy working week. We wouldn’t have crashed the music room in our gowns, and started using all the instruments like we even had some kind of unspoken of purpose. We wouldn’t have had an entire curricular made especially for us, if we were mere classmates. We wouldn’t have had taken pictures together all over the school, and we wouldn’t have attacked my Victoria Cake and annihilated its presence from the face of the earth, under five minutes, and still thought about the girls who didn’t get a bite.

If we truly were mere classmates, I would have never have typed this to even begin with. I would have never thought of September 2012 as only yesterday. I would have never looked at all of them and thought: Holy crap, this is the last time I walk into class and find a girl laying on the carpet, and another one happily dancing to some music, then another one in the corner over there fully indulged in her food.

Point is, we’re all more than just eighteen girls trapped inside of some class: We’re all more than classmates; More than anything that this world could possibly fathom. We’ve built our own family, and no matter how little we talked, or how less time we spent with each other, we’ll always look at each other with honor, and we’ve never forgotten that we’ve never let go, and that we’ve always smiled to the very end.

I understand a bunch of simple couldn’t capture the true essence that even built 12B. Because, a class as unique as ours needs an entirely different language, I believe, to fully depict this odd bond that wraps around us, and holds us all under one roof.

There will always be love, and care, and respect. There were arguments, and there were fights, but there was always harmony.

To the very, very end, my darlings. To the very, very end.

P.S. I’ll try to send you our famous Victoria Cake every month. 

I AM AN IDIOT

This is just a quick little thing. Nothing formal, or artistic, or anything along those lines, this is a message to all those who put surviving over living, and then call it logic. This is to those who cancel out their dreams because even reality is an unreachable height. This is to those who tear down a dreamer's bridge, and call it help. And to them I say:

I once read an article about a man who had dropped out of Harvard (after being an engineering student) in order to pursue his arts in culinary. I thought it was admirable. I would give him a standing ovation, if I must. Because, what is better than doing what you love after all?
So I told a certain bunch about him, and they all labeled him the same way: Idiot.
An idiot, is evidently a man who is strong enough, and courageous enough to throw away the weights bending his shoulders frontwards. An idiot is a man who is passionate, a man who will spend the rest of his lifetime fully immersed in his own works.

So, yes, if an idiot is all that has been stated above, then gladly, I am an idiot.

Sophie's Twelfth Blogger Challenge: Write a Poem | 'The Pot of Gold'

I've decided to partake in Sophie's (Twitter: Sosepho , blog: ilovenoodlez.wordpress.com) Blogger Challenge, because it's exciting and because it's fun and because it's educational and because I want and other ands. This a terrible introduction, but we're basically supposed to write a poem, so voila:

When you are your highest,

When you are your greatest,

And when you are your wisest,

Remember that there is the Wiser,

And that there is the greater,

And that there is the older,

Always much higher.

But never worry, no.

Never be afraid.

Because when you smile to the universe,

It’ll only smile back.

And when you laugh with your head bent back,

It’ll call upon the stars, and ask them to you.

To stand for you.

To stand by you.

To stand to you.

And when you smile a little more,

At all the funny and all the bad,

It’ll gift you a rose with no thorns.

And when you cry a little less,

At all the worries and the mess,

It’ll gift you a tree with only apples.

But if you look up again,

And you dance, and you sing, and you laugh,

Because goddamit you can!

It’ll gift you the Pot of Gold,

The Pot of Mercy, and All That is Swell and Well. 

Rooftops

I’ve always found them magical. I mean, most of our lives we implement ourselves into the most perplexing of entanglements, where everyone inside thinks they’re doing the right thing, when they’re all tangling the entanglement much more than it had already been entangled. Everyone in the entanglement either puts the blame on themselves or on anyone else, when the blame is sourced in the entanglement itself. And, in this entanglement, we’re all caught up in the yelling, and the screaming, and the bad-mouthing, and other disturbing whatnots. Everything is just so loud, and it’s like the universe is sinking in, gathering its weight on our shoulders, and expecting our paper bones to be able to carry its rocks.

So sometimes, sometimes we need to breathe. To just let go for a couple of seconds—a couple of minor seconds, really—and smile, so that’s when I found rooftops. You see, when you’re on a rooftop, the world suddenly silences itself, as if you are finally the visitor, and it is the audience—The world suddenly respects you. It stops yelling, and screaming. You look down on all these houses—you’re so high up. You look at them and it’s like the world expanded again. All of that noise compressed itself into those little houses, and kept itself there.

The rooftop is where the stars gather to remind you of just how great you are, how vast the world is, and how you’ll get through. It’s when the moon reminds you of life, and the wind tells you: You’re still here.

The rooftop is where we find our freedom. It’s where we look up and realize that the sky’s yet to fall.