I am disilllusioned.
I feel like crying. Everywhere I turn my head to, I see people with their art. Carrying it like a banner that says it all. And it pains me to see that they look at me in disdain. Disdain for my simplicity.
For years and years, I write down words that take form and turn into poetry. I do not mean them to be, but they come unbidden and furious.
And so poetry becomes my refuge, the only thing that could pacify me when I'm raging or give me peace when I feel disturbed. Poetry has been witness to countless suicidal thoughts, natural high times, the times I was mending my broken heart, regrettable affairs, booze-induced inspiration, fights with people, falling in and out of love and even when I fell for the moon. But to see it boil down to nothing in the eyes of the so-called literati is so sad it makes me want to spray them with insecticide, the same way you eliminate bugs because that's what they are. They infest on my soul with such fervor, I cannot begin to imagine.
I am disillusioned because they think so full of themselves, that they have these fat heads and extraordinary vocabulary. They forgot to see poetry in its most basic. That if you strip it down to almost nothing, what will be left are fragments of emotions and wisdom that make up its very essence. As such that I have. As such as those who take comfort in writing down their life and emotions as a catharsis.
But proud that I am for being able to give vent to the overwhelming episodes of my life that race against each other, I will not bow. They are not worthy of the so-called pretense they take with them as they parade in their glittering words. I take with me my poems as with my soul when I lay down on my bed of earth. They are mine and they are a legacy of a life lived as disturbing as I could take. A life that will not be remembered by thousands or even one when the generation dies down. It will be but a life of poetry.
I feel like crying. Everywhere I turn my head to, I see people with their art. Carrying it like a banner that says it all. And it pains me to see that they look at me in disdain. Disdain for my simplicity.
For years and years, I write down words that take form and turn into poetry. I do not mean them to be, but they come unbidden and furious.
And so poetry becomes my refuge, the only thing that could pacify me when I'm raging or give me peace when I feel disturbed. Poetry has been witness to countless suicidal thoughts, natural high times, the times I was mending my broken heart, regrettable affairs, booze-induced inspiration, fights with people, falling in and out of love and even when I fell for the moon. But to see it boil down to nothing in the eyes of the so-called literati is so sad it makes me want to spray them with insecticide, the same way you eliminate bugs because that's what they are. They infest on my soul with such fervor, I cannot begin to imagine.
I am disillusioned because they think so full of themselves, that they have these fat heads and extraordinary vocabulary. They forgot to see poetry in its most basic. That if you strip it down to almost nothing, what will be left are fragments of emotions and wisdom that make up its very essence. As such that I have. As such as those who take comfort in writing down their life and emotions as a catharsis.
But proud that I am for being able to give vent to the overwhelming episodes of my life that race against each other, I will not bow. They are not worthy of the so-called pretense they take with them as they parade in their glittering words. I take with me my poems as with my soul when I lay down on my bed of earth. They are mine and they are a legacy of a life lived as disturbing as I could take. A life that will not be remembered by thousands or even one when the generation dies down. It will be but a life of poetry.
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