Written by you Not just another
Why is the sky grey again?
Seated in some confined cafe,
You can only focus on your terrible day.
h
The coffee sucks,
Not because the beans are bland,
But because the barista looks like he wants you dead.
Well, anything would taste blue,
When infected with such a mood.
h
You glance around,
There’s not much of a crowd.
Still, you’re unsure if you want to ponder now.
But your thoughts close in,
The blasting music can no longer stop them from spilling.
So you lay out the notebook you’ve purchased for the sake of aesthetics,
But never once did it serve the purpose of journaling.
Eyes closed, deep breaths.
You wander to the forbidden zone of your mind,
Filled with unwanted memories you’ve stowed away.
One foot in,
Darkness crawls up and grips your leg.
You scream.
It comes out silent,
The only hint of that horror is your sombre eyes, widened.
To those around you,
You’re just lost in a daydream.
But the twisted wires of anxiety come sneaking out,
Tangling, chocking, slicing through your flesh,
Until you must vomit out the pain.
h
You glance at the pen on your table.
You hear it spew memories of the friend who never treated you right,
Worries about your love life,
Frustrations of never achieving peace of mind,
And questions from people asking,
“What’s the plan for your career?”
In response, you want to yell,
“I don’t know. Are you going to be my fortune teller?”
You wonder how you hear all this just by looking at your pen.
h
You pick up your pen,
It gags on the friend who never treated you right,
It retches on worries about your love life,
It pukes out the frustration of never having peace of mind,
It spews out the concerns about your future,
Of the overwhelming dread when they ask you,
“What’s the plan for your career?”
And in desperation, you want to yell,
“I don’t know. Are you going to be my fortune teller?”
h
Finishing your degree was your only priority.
You had it all planned out.
It will get you a job with a decent salary.
Then, you can finally be free.
h
But you read about the inflation rate,
And wonder, what if struggling is my fate?
As they say,
World War III can happen anytime,
Bloodshed occurs daily.
And the news just gave up reporting it eventually. .
Meanwhile, politicians are unfazed,
Justice is no longer what the governments chase.
All you see are people lying, stealing and manipulating,
As if their will to live is solely fueled by animalistic greed. fueled by animalistic greed.
How can you be hopeful?
When all you see is how the world betrays you.
Every day, these thoughts pump surges of fear through your veins.
h
Inhale.
h
What is the meaning of life?
They keep asking you to try,
But never noticed how many times you’ve died inside.
h
Exhale.
h
You’re back in the café.
The warm smell of buttery pastry fills your nose,
It spreads through your body like a fuzzy blanket.
The faint golden caress snaps you back,
And a new batch of croissants is brought out.
Your lips curl up a bit,
Until suddenly,
The rock pressed on your chest feels a little less heavy.
You attempt to shift your focus onto something light.
But once the brooding starts,
You’re always stuck on it for a few hours.
How can I relax when the bad side always seems to get the upper hand?
g
Inhale.
g
The golden caress glides through your nose again.
You clumsily chase after its footsteps.
g
If a batch of croissants can lighten the weight of the world,
Even just for a split second,
What happens when you gather millions of these moments?
Will speckles of hope be enough for you to stand tall against all disappointment?
g
But how many before you have experienced this agony?
Yet, none of their battles were fought in vain.
They are remembered,
Because they always chose the hopeful lane.
g
Maybe the point isn’t to ignore the darkness,
But to hold on to hints of light.
Stars amongst the stormiest nights never disappeared,
But we forget their presence,
Eventually, all we do is mourn the loss of their existence.
g
If you also fall into the trap of hopelessness,
Who is going to be the light?
g
If you give up on your mission,
Who is going to fight?
Well, you, but remember the vows you once made.
The goodness that you promised to bring,
And remember that you are the one holding the blade.
You are the one holding that weapon of fate.
You decide which step to take.
g
The first step of healing this pain,
Is recognizing that you are part of the change.
g
If you give up on your mission,
Yes, you might not have to fight,
But you will forever live in fright,
Haunted by the vows you once made.
The goodness that you promised to bring,
Will be mercilessly slain,
And you’ll realize you were the one holding the blade:
The weapon of despair,
The symbol of true failure,.
The first step of healing this pain,
Is to recognize, that you are a part of the change.
g
Hope comes from everyday life,
From being undefeated by endless tries.
Hope comes from crying,
Then standing up with courage.
g
Get up.
g
You walk to the barista.
Instead of flinching at his coldness,
You squeeze out a smile and ask for a croissant.
He doesn’t smile back.
But his eyes soften, barely noticeable
But that’s enough.
g
Hope doesn’t have to be grand.
It starts with showing up with a smile.
Hope doesn’t care how many times you’ve failed.
So, find the courage, find the strength.
g
Remember, every time you break through,
It’s proof that hope starts with you.
