.

I began to write poems when in my youth.

I asked myself, why I wrote these poems.

I never could answer that.

I let you down, didn't I sister?

I told you of my dreams, ambitions.

I chased them like a starving fox chases prey.

Told they did,

My sister.. my parents.

---

 

I sit here late at night thinking,

is it all worth inking.

Books crowd like ghosts by my side,

their spines shut tight to my lack of sight.

.

.

One day —

I'll wake up,

see that my world is all paid up.

. 

. 

Maybe —

on that day,

I'll figure out myself at decay,

and not just as an Omen of Burden..

.

I feel the need to be different,

to act someone else, who I am not but all ways dignant.

I want to be like the ones I once saw so benignant,

offer my tears, sweat, heart for one decent.

They'll look at me they see a beggar,

not one crying for help, but one lost forever.

I'd ask for help but fear I'd be shrugged aside,

perhaps that's why I am content and cried last night.

There's no telling how long I'll last,

build a story of how I lost my past.

See the plans I made fall and turn to ash,

all the while wish I could've struck someone and made a slash.

Dear Diary,

I am not sure what to write today,

to say I feel, would be a lie - something I can't spew in this way.

Should I throw back my hair, lie a little,

even while in the middle of this riddle?

To say, I feel exhausted perhaps would be correct,

chasing this concept of I think perfect..

Stuck in this dream state, with a smile on my face,

feel like I am standing on a world so fake.

Too much to ask, that might be,

my blade sings of intent, of danger - 

perhaps of a guarantee..

I am, here now to protect others,

care for myself is lost, just like in a another.

You were the last brick to my wall,

I'll miss you, till hopefully I hear your call.

....

Dear Diary,

I am exhausted, not because I feel alone.

- Because I feel lost.
So lost that I've decided to march against my old home,

but then - I realized, I told them.
I would join those who'd see them burnt down.
. . .

-

This day, will be the day I finish something.
I betray those who once guided me.

Can I even blame myself,
I told them.

. . .

-

I know my faith now, I know the words.

Kill, or be killed.
Curse, or be cursed.

Only, I am already walking upon death, and curses.

For once they see me, they will hunt me down.

. . .
-

Yet, I can not do neither.
Only I pray the dance, I have perfected.
With you, and you - to be worth all these years.
I only hope you understand why I do this, my dear o'mentor. 
. . .

-

Grant me your strength, for once.. will you?