I bite the bitter leaves
Of the tree that grows in my backyard.
I pick up the yellow ones,
Dying and pretending to be
Beautiful,
Both.
I hear her speak,
In that familiar accent.
She laughs aloud;
A shrill pitch in her voice.
Deep red lipstick on her lips.
A little more flare in her hair.
Her eyes beam as she talks.
I look at myself,
Then I look at her.
I was more real
With the leaves I hold on to.
She plucks flowers
From my backyard.
I feel sorry
Both for the flower
And her.
Fake, I called her once
And made her cry.
He called her beautiful.
I looked at her again,
And that made me cry.
When I stepped out of my cocoon last year, I wanted to create a beautiful life... for myself and for other people like me - smart, intelligent, but unhappy, unfulfilled, unsatisfied, their potentials never tapped into, their hearts smashed every time they typed on their laptops and looked at the clock. Time passes by for them and nothing happens. Or everything happens but just by the clock. Money buys them expensive shoes but where was the time to step out? Every conversation was a game of poker where you bet or you call but you can never fold. It's been a year now. I fear I may have failed. I didn't create the world I promised myself and my invisible readers. What am I doing? My life only got worse. There were places to go to but where were the expensive shoes? Fear, trapped me in an invisible cage I carried with me everywhere I went. My neck strangled by a stranger's hands of expectations. How could I stand up to his expectations when I can't even stand up to my own? ...
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