Section 1: Curse
Prologue
The same passionate fire that drives my soul
Turns out to be the one that burns it to a crisp
Curse
Born with this silent disease
Yet raised without a cure
I'm gifted with a curious curse
In this library of words
Is where you read my world
Though a library more still left untold
A decade left untreated
A sea pressured into a single bottle
Thrown far away from this accursed isle
May it reach a kindred spirit
Who would read and understand it
To turn dust in the air to concrete
Concrete from which I shall build
An empire, or a shelter
Soundproof, against the noisy whisper
The noisy whisper
The curse I could never cure
Even with streams of reams of words
Pretty Puppet
I'm dressing up tonight into a marionette
Attaching strings to my limpy limbs
So they can play and dance the ideal me
I'm drawing myself a perfect portrait
To be displayed on the wall of fame
So they can see the flawless me
My strings are chains to their brains
My poise attached to their eyes
My value defined by their truthful lies
My satisfaction shackled to their expectations
My beauty lies in their comments
My happiness in their compliments
They are the puppeteers
The masters who decide my worth
The witches who create this curse
While I'm the puppet
A pretty one, in fact
Who must be perfect
Snowflake
Don't blame me
if a falling leaf in fall
from over a mile
stirs me from my stupor.
Don't blame me
if the snowflake that touches
the tip of my nose
makes me shiver for an hour.
And don't blame me, dear
if the butterflies' flutter
ever stir a gust in here.
You shan't blame me.
And neither shall I blame you.
Imperfect
Discard the defect
And keep the perfect
That's what they all said
Leave all dirt at the door
Leave no dust on the floor
There's no room here for any flaw
Or hide them behind the curtain
Bury the corpse into the dark
Just sweep it under the rug
Display only perfection
Preserve the brilliant diamond
But burn away the black carbon
For an ideal world exists solely for beauty
And beauty lies in their eyes, not mine
In this utopia this soot cannot shine
Flaws
Somewhere among those stars
Elsewhere among these flaws
In a world immensely vast
I find myself lost
I didn’t ask for this face
Neither did I ask for this voice
I can but embrace
But have grown sick and tired of the world’s noise
Someday their voices will sink in mine
And I’ll no longer drown
I’ll swim across that sea of flaws
And escape this wretched town
What Good Am I
What good am I
If I can’t even smile
If my laughter fails to lie
If I don’t even try
What good am I
If I can’t be as wild
If I can’t get as high
If I’m not in style
What good am I
If I’m not the same
Lame and not as fun
And I’m not like them
What good am I
A bird with its wings
Yet cannot fly
What good am I…
Anxiety
Storm brewing
Anxiety kicking in
No gale as warning
Not even a whirlwind
So there and then it went
Swaying me yet again
Greeting a good old friend
Barging into my vein
Original
I am ever afraid of being a mere clone
Of being a product of my peers, and not of my own
I want to be myself, not my faceless shadow
I want to be the pioneer, not some distant echo
I want to be different, even if it means being alone
Unlike a pathetic copycat wannabe overly-known
I want to do it my way, and not labelled a mime
But then what is a poem if it does not at all rhyme
Uprising
A gentle rebel by birth,
an awkward coward by curse,
I'm the whisper within your noise
but still a voice, with its own poise,
with its own choice
From Afar
Let him be a stranger
Whom you'll always admire
From a safe distance
You may marvel at the surface
But don’t ever come near
Don't dig or dive deeper
Or you'll discover
The untold truth of one's nature
That under the water lies a monster
In the utter darkness and pressure
That underneath that layer lies a colour
One you couldn't see before
You've never heard of before
And you wish you hadn't
All the while, you adored the wrong person
He's but an empty shell, a false idol
Gold-plated to conceal his rust
Constantly cleaned to remove any dust
He’s the moon whom you wonder at when he’s full
Beautiful but only because he reflects the Sun’s light
But come much, much closer, and you shall witness
Its lifelessness and surface full of craters
Some are just better on display
To be watched through the glass, from the perfect angle
Not to be possessed, and not to be handled
While they shine under the light
And you observe outside the line
Fallen Angel
They tore up my pair of wings
And pushed me down the drain in the rain
So now I grow a pair of horns
Out of the rose thorns they threw away
Sometimes pain makes a hero
Other times a villain, if both are not the same
From their cold shadow
I shall show them the fire within me one day
Playing the Villain
I'm burning this accursed album down to ashes
Before the living pictures reduce me to tears
While discarding these dense shards of memory
Before the sharp pieces get to cut and pain me
But then I patch the smithereens back into a pane
And look at my reflected image down the lane
I'm tired of playing the same fragile victim yet again
Tomorrow you shall see me be the cold villain
Villainy
I adopt the villainy
And embrace the darkness
Just so that I can see
What’s left in me that glisters
Who Would You Rather Be
Would you be a sad, mad, man
Rather than a bad guy
Eternal abysmal wound
Or grotesque scars of sin
Would you rather be a victim
Terrified yet petrified by death
Or would you live in regret
As a guilt ridden villain?
Epilogue
Mother told me to be bold
And not to be a fool
But I became both
For I couldn’t tell between the two
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