This pretty-fashioned ball, a masquerade all fall.
Here's the catch and call, it's told to be for all.
Things and possibilities, never ending improbabilities.
Could it be some disability or just sickly incivility?
You don't know who plays the clown, you don't know whose wears a gown.
Forget the crown, they're all in frowns.
This facade keeps going round and round, you wound up only with a slippery noun.
A word, no verbs- just adjectives, you think not twice but in sevens or fifths.
They do a dance, clearly placed in a trance.
Words fall out like a desperate blunt lance, they prance away without a glance.
They forget what no one can forget, yet life won't let us run from debt.
It all comes down to a single trick, you either burn or melt off the candle wick.
But whose to say you're not just as sick, painting blood with a mere prick-like-stick.
Not on their faces, oh that thought misplaces.
But your own skin you force into aces, you'd cover all those hidden traces.
Cut all these bull, we're all just tools.
But I'm the one whose such a fool, putting myself under such a dark dark rule.
(well this was a bloody waste of time, i don't get it either. dont judge me i just needed an outlet)
Wednesday, 21 May 2014
Tuesday, 13 May 2014
Teach me how to stay classy
Teach me how to stay classy,
Certainly not asking for anything too fussy.
I'll hold my words up in a bun,
While knowing how to have just a little bit of fun.
Curtsey and greet others with the hems of my skirt,
Yet remain icy, like a frozen dessert.
To laugh and embrace just like the sun,
Carry loving personalities made to stun.
Charm others with unmistakable respect.
To embrace life as if no regrets.
I'd love so much to stay cultured and not tacky,
Is there a balance of sexy without the skimpy?
Showing beauty, more than skin deep,
Yet indulge in dresses like the only sin.
I'd present language like a full makeup,
Confidence like black gloves, I'll certainly do with no fake ups.
To step in to a scene with elegance and poise,
Classy heels with a good height choice.
Convey love with a smile,
To blow a kiss from a mile.
To be missed when not around,
To be felt without making a sound.
To say so much with simply the twinkle in my eye.
To be timeless, never out of style.
for someone who literally asked "how to stay classy", idk la hahahaha
Certainly not asking for anything too fussy.
I'll hold my words up in a bun,
While knowing how to have just a little bit of fun.
Curtsey and greet others with the hems of my skirt,
Yet remain icy, like a frozen dessert.
To laugh and embrace just like the sun,
Carry loving personalities made to stun.
Charm others with unmistakable respect.
To embrace life as if no regrets.
I'd love so much to stay cultured and not tacky,
Is there a balance of sexy without the skimpy?
Showing beauty, more than skin deep,
Yet indulge in dresses like the only sin.
I'd present language like a full makeup,
Confidence like black gloves, I'll certainly do with no fake ups.
To step in to a scene with elegance and poise,
Classy heels with a good height choice.
Convey love with a smile,
To blow a kiss from a mile.
To be missed when not around,
To be felt without making a sound.
To say so much with simply the twinkle in my eye.
To be timeless, never out of style.
for someone who literally asked "how to stay classy", idk la hahahaha
Wednesday, 7 May 2014
Pretty, beautiful things.
"I'm not the best around pretty, beautiful things."
I'm not the best around pretty, beautiful things.
Pretty things make me stammer, stutter,
Clamp up and feel like butter.
Things that shimmer,
Ugh, they make me quiver.
I'm not the best around pretty, beautiful things.
I shy away & feel inferior,
Wondering what it's like with their interiors.
Are they just cold or really made of gold?
Built to perfection, only missing the tiniest fractions?
I'm not the best around pretty, beautiful things.
I'd think to myself, are we really of the same species? (Really?)
I always secretly wish I could conveniently sink into the abyss.
This attraction anyone would feel,
Not just an appeal, nothing modestly concealed.
That they are blessed beyond bliss,
Their being stuns the eyes and intrigues the mind,
That laugh, surely you didn't miss.
Leaving imaginary footprints behind their every mile,
One could almost hear the shout 'lovely' with their single smile.
Yes, everyone has a lovely soul.
Some just appear lovelier, some just easier, (to behold)
But sadly in our world no one really has the time,
Society only eyes for the ones causing this crime.
The pretty, beautiful and the wild.
Call it envy but I assure you, I'm more beguiled.
Wouldn't you too, be curious to know
What it's like to be pretty, perfect and admired?
Oh, would you say 'what a life to be desired?'
I'm not the best around pretty, beautiful things.
Pretty things make me stammer, stutter,
Clamp up and feel like butter.
Things that shimmer,
Ugh, they make me quiver.
I'm not the best around pretty, beautiful things.
I shy away & feel inferior,
Wondering what it's like with their interiors.
Are they just cold or really made of gold?
Built to perfection, only missing the tiniest fractions?
I'm not the best around pretty, beautiful things.
I'd think to myself, are we really of the same species? (Really?)
I always secretly wish I could conveniently sink into the abyss.
This attraction anyone would feel,
Not just an appeal, nothing modestly concealed.
That they are blessed beyond bliss,
Their being stuns the eyes and intrigues the mind,
That laugh, surely you didn't miss.
Leaving imaginary footprints behind their every mile,
One could almost hear the shout 'lovely' with their single smile.
Yes, everyone has a lovely soul.
Some just appear lovelier, some just easier, (to behold)
But sadly in our world no one really has the time,
Society only eyes for the ones causing this crime.
The pretty, beautiful and the wild.
Call it envy but I assure you, I'm more beguiled.
Wouldn't you too, be curious to know
What it's like to be pretty, perfect and admired?
Oh, would you say 'what a life to be desired?'
Saturday, 12 April 2014
A Father's Love.
He knew you.
Barely a ball of flesh,
knitted in a womb.
Your hands, they formed
Clasped tightly,
His fingers they held.
Even before your body was formed, your heart beat to His lullaby.
Even before your body took shape, your soul knew His very name.
You took your first step and everyone clapped.
Your first fall and everyone laughed.
He held you gently and taught you trust and love,
Trust in your parents,
Trust in the steady ground.
Trust that this Earth was yours to keep for now.
He saw you.
Cladded in a hand-me-down bright yellow shirt,
Khaki green shorts and was that crocs?
Your first step becoming your first step into a new school,
Your first fall becomes your first fail.
Your first crawl becomes your first bawl.
You briefly remember the details of your childhood.
You barely remember the traces of you growing older.
In inches you grew, and grew taller.
But do you know, who held you high from your shoulders?
He remembered you.
Somehow,
You can't quite remember how the actual hell you thrived in
A bloody hellhole like this.
Bloody walls with no roof.
Bloody steps with no ground.
You were better off dead.
Your sister is non-existent as far as you're concerned,
The house is a mad ground and your parents,
Fighting wars against wars.
You were better off fostered.
Fine, why do you care except somehow your case is now.
Did they say home is where the heart is?
Then what if you had no heart?
Feels already like you have no home.
Fighting all day and night long, each man for himself.
Only shadows seem to creep and crawl and follow in your falls.
And in all these, would I dare tell you He was beside you through it all?
He loves you.
In so many ways you can never imagine.
Your every waking moment, timed so perfectly.
Slumber creeps in with His whisper "Goodnight specially".
And when you cry yourself to sleep,
He holds the tears and little sniffs.
You say that He's forsaken you
When He sits silently by your side.
Say He's gone quiet,
When you scream and shout and cry.
You say He doesn't love you,
He sent His only son to die.
Just because He loves you, doesn't mean He won't let you cry.
My father taught me how to swim after I knew how sinking felt like.
My papa taught me how to dream after I swallowed some pride.
A Father's Love is a painful one,
Like flying a little kite.
You pull and tug that little string but it won't understand why.
A Father's Love is a painful one,
true love doesn't deny
One the rights to be 'alive'
or choose to live a lie.
A Father's Love is a heartbreaking one,
you teach and love at the same time.
True love is when you tell your son,
"You can do whatever you like.
But please remember I am here, always by your side."
This is Love, not a guarantee of no hardship, not a guarantee of no pain.
Overprotection causes more harm than anything it would gain.
This is Love, undenying, not self seeking, not envious, never keeping any records of wrong, always persevering.
Always persevering.
Barely a ball of flesh,
knitted in a womb.
Your hands, they formed
Clasped tightly,
His fingers they held.
Even before your body was formed, your heart beat to His lullaby.
Even before your body took shape, your soul knew His very name.
You took your first step and everyone clapped.
Your first fall and everyone laughed.
He held you gently and taught you trust and love,
Trust in your parents,
Trust in the steady ground.
Trust that this Earth was yours to keep for now.
He saw you.
Cladded in a hand-me-down bright yellow shirt,
Khaki green shorts and was that crocs?
Your first step becoming your first step into a new school,
Your first fall becomes your first fail.
Your first crawl becomes your first bawl.
You briefly remember the details of your childhood.
You barely remember the traces of you growing older.
In inches you grew, and grew taller.
But do you know, who held you high from your shoulders?
He remembered you.
Somehow,
You can't quite remember how the actual hell you thrived in
A bloody hellhole like this.
Bloody walls with no roof.
Bloody steps with no ground.
You were better off dead.
Your sister is non-existent as far as you're concerned,
The house is a mad ground and your parents,
Fighting wars against wars.
You were better off fostered.
Fine, why do you care except somehow your case is now.
Did they say home is where the heart is?
Then what if you had no heart?
Feels already like you have no home.
Fighting all day and night long, each man for himself.
Only shadows seem to creep and crawl and follow in your falls.
And in all these, would I dare tell you He was beside you through it all?
He loves you.
In so many ways you can never imagine.
Your every waking moment, timed so perfectly.
Slumber creeps in with His whisper "Goodnight specially".
And when you cry yourself to sleep,
He holds the tears and little sniffs.
You say that He's forsaken you
When He sits silently by your side.
Say He's gone quiet,
When you scream and shout and cry.
You say He doesn't love you,
He sent His only son to die.
Just because He loves you, doesn't mean He won't let you cry.
My father taught me how to swim after I knew how sinking felt like.
My papa taught me how to dream after I swallowed some pride.
A Father's Love is a painful one,
Like flying a little kite.
You pull and tug that little string but it won't understand why.
A Father's Love is a painful one,
true love doesn't deny
One the rights to be 'alive'
or choose to live a lie.
A Father's Love is a heartbreaking one,
you teach and love at the same time.
True love is when you tell your son,
"You can do whatever you like.
But please remember I am here, always by your side."
This is Love, not a guarantee of no hardship, not a guarantee of no pain.
Overprotection causes more harm than anything it would gain.
This is Love, undenying, not self seeking, not envious, never keeping any records of wrong, always persevering.
Always persevering.
Wednesday, 26 March 2014
Serenity; the state of calm, peace and untroubled.
Peace.
Dawn isn't just my favourite time.
My favourite time is that few hours between midnight to morning. The early AMs.
Well, it is a love-hate relationship.
I stay in Singapore. And this is probably a huge contribution to why I enjoy the wee ungodly hours. No no, not because of the usual 'Singapore is so stressful and all' although it might be a partial reason to my point that Singaporeans sleep really late. I remember that being in other countries, especially western-european countries, my favourite timings were dusk. By then, shops were closing, everyone was tired and lights were going off.
See, calmness is beautiful whenever and wherever but to fully enjoy it, physical quietness and everything comes to play.
I love the times when it's way past my bedtime and all I hear is the whirring of the screen monitors and the beating of my own thoughts.
Why is it a love-hate relationship though? Because calmness doesn't always come. And those early AMs are also responsible for things like bad decisions (ted mosby i gotcha), late night thoughts (taylor swift i bet u write all your songs in my AMs) and losing yourself into the darkness.
I learn to appreciate how peace feels without the usual disturbances of the crazy human brain. (When the brain isn't trying to be funny and making a joke outta me, or overthinking every second.) I stay up well and could go on for hours at these favourite timings.
(Someone once asked: "Could it be that because at such timings, your brain is already asleep and your heart is still awake??")
I learn that such moments of repose, serenity, cannot be felt every waking moment and cannot be controlled. The many times we need it, the many times we cannot find it. Some people have realised that and have tried to maintain an image of calmness all the time no matter what situation. Depending on reasons, example, to be a support to others or whatsoever, these people are still frantic and breaking inside.
Only true calmness can be felt from inside and the feeling is so hard to describe.
Like a break of light through the winter that casts a warm sensation on its glow, it's most beautiful in the midst of white snow and cold. Peacefulness is most beautiful in a crazy crazy world.
Haven't written anything or completed most posts because of how I've been feeling about writing lately!
Sometimes I like to wake up hours before I am supposed to and lie in my bed and think.
I would watch the sun slowly peak and come up through the edge of my window as I sink into a day-dream of my own. Maybe night dreams aren't enough, but here, I don't struggle with crazy weird dreams or nightmares and dreams I don't understand due to my subconscious mind. I control my thoughts and at this very moment between the time of everyone waking and me falling back asleep, everything is calm. There's just something about the calmness of mind that is probably the best feeling in the world. To feel sane in a world of insane.
Just for the moment is
So so beautiful.
The state of tranquility at it's finest.
Serenity.
Just something about the calmness of mind that is probably the best feeling in the world. To feel sane in a world of insane. Time slows down a little for you.
Dawn isn't just my favourite time.
My favourite time is that few hours between midnight to morning. The early AMs.
Well, it is a love-hate relationship.
I stay in Singapore. And this is probably a huge contribution to why I enjoy the wee ungodly hours. No no, not because of the usual 'Singapore is so stressful and all' although it might be a partial reason to my point that Singaporeans sleep really late. I remember that being in other countries, especially western-european countries, my favourite timings were dusk. By then, shops were closing, everyone was tired and lights were going off.
See, calmness is beautiful whenever and wherever but to fully enjoy it, physical quietness and everything comes to play.
I love the times when it's way past my bedtime and all I hear is the whirring of the screen monitors and the beating of my own thoughts.
Why is it a love-hate relationship though? Because calmness doesn't always come. And those early AMs are also responsible for things like bad decisions (ted mosby i gotcha), late night thoughts (taylor swift i bet u write all your songs in my AMs) and losing yourself into the darkness.
I learn to appreciate how peace feels without the usual disturbances of the crazy human brain. (When the brain isn't trying to be funny and making a joke outta me, or overthinking every second.) I stay up well and could go on for hours at these favourite timings.
(Someone once asked: "Could it be that because at such timings, your brain is already asleep and your heart is still awake??")
I learn that such moments of repose, serenity, cannot be felt every waking moment and cannot be controlled. The many times we need it, the many times we cannot find it. Some people have realised that and have tried to maintain an image of calmness all the time no matter what situation. Depending on reasons, example, to be a support to others or whatsoever, these people are still frantic and breaking inside.
Only true calmness can be felt from inside and the feeling is so hard to describe.
Like a break of light through the winter that casts a warm sensation on its glow, it's most beautiful in the midst of white snow and cold. Peacefulness is most beautiful in a crazy crazy world.
Haven't written anything or completed most posts because of how I've been feeling about writing lately!
Wednesday, 5 February 2014
Friends
What if love came with a choice.
Looks,
Height,
Weight,
Popularity.
What if friends came with prices.
Are you pretty?
Are you funny?
Do you dress the way
Everyone
Else
Does?
How many pints can you chug?
What kinds of music do you
Listen To?
Can you keep up?
Keep up with their paces?
What if happiness in life required certain standards.
Colours of hair,
Appearances and faces,
Skin tones,
Brawny and braces?
Like platters in a buffet,
People walking, choosing,
This look's appetising,
This I'll save for later.
This I'll avoid.
It isn't any of the tastes I like.
The greatest blisses in life isn't just being able to say "I am loved for what I'm great at, what I'm good at and what I can do well."
The greatest blessing,
Possibly,
Is to be able to say, "I am accepted, I am loved. I am adored for what I never will be. I am appreciated for what I'm not good at. I am dear to people because of what I will never look like…
I am beloved because I am nothing but me."
Not just even though, but because I am imperfectly perfect.
Looks,
Height,
Weight,
Popularity.
What if friends came with prices.
Are you pretty?
Are you funny?
Do you dress the way
Everyone
Else
Does?
How many pints can you chug?
What kinds of music do you
Listen To?
Can you keep up?
Keep up with their paces?
What if happiness in life required certain standards.
Colours of hair,
Appearances and faces,
Skin tones,
Brawny and braces?
Like platters in a buffet,
People walking, choosing,
This look's appetising,
This I'll save for later.
This I'll avoid.
It isn't any of the tastes I like.
The greatest blisses in life isn't just being able to say "I am loved for what I'm great at, what I'm good at and what I can do well."
The greatest blessing,
Possibly,
Is to be able to say, "I am accepted, I am loved. I am adored for what I never will be. I am appreciated for what I'm not good at. I am dear to people because of what I will never look like…
I am beloved because I am nothing but me."
Not just even though, but because I am imperfectly perfect.
"Friends are hard to find. In a lifetime
you only get a few. And when you find them, you always know them by sight and
heart alone, you always grow a little bit taller in your soul, and you know you
have been blessed just to know them." - Ashley Rice
Tuesday, 4 February 2014
Snowflakes
Have you ever tasted a snowflake?
Like standing outside a front porch, or in a large field, sticking your tongue out and chasing those tiny white things and then watching one fall into your mouth.
It's too small to taste, just a tiny speck of cold.
(But then again, it's just water and probably tastes plain and... Well... Water-y?)
That's what some things are to me.
Snowflakes.
Specks of pretty glass shards made of ice and water that vanishes and dissolves the moment it reaches your lips. And it's nothing but a beautiful cold feeling. Each snowflake is unique and special on it's own, not one the same as the other. But if you don't catch them, they fall to the ground either to dissolve or form something greater; pretty white snow on the ground.
Doesn't it kind of feel like life?
Every pretty moment.
\(^-^)/
I love snowflakes.
"Falling slowly,
eyes that met me
And I can't go back." - Falling Slowly (Once)
https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=falling%20slowly%20glen%20hansard%20and%20marketa%20irglova&sm=3
Like standing outside a front porch, or in a large field, sticking your tongue out and chasing those tiny white things and then watching one fall into your mouth.
It's too small to taste, just a tiny speck of cold.
(But then again, it's just water and probably tastes plain and... Well... Water-y?)
That's what some things are to me.
Snowflakes.
Specks of pretty glass shards made of ice and water that vanishes and dissolves the moment it reaches your lips. And it's nothing but a beautiful cold feeling. Each snowflake is unique and special on it's own, not one the same as the other. But if you don't catch them, they fall to the ground either to dissolve or form something greater; pretty white snow on the ground.
Doesn't it kind of feel like life?
Every pretty moment.
\(^-^)/
I love snowflakes.
"Falling slowly,
eyes that met me
And I can't go back." - Falling Slowly (Once)
https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=falling%20slowly%20glen%20hansard%20and%20marketa%20irglova&sm=3
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