#kwakfltrs

[xandyuna]

Symmetry

let me lay down here, on the threshold of two dimensions. allow me to savor peace, to recline myself to all these sufferings, to rock myself on this wood with this resting hammock at the edge of both ends, to feel the ecstasy in calmness, and to perish in the tranquility of solitude. written letters sent to the forces of nature and celestial bodies. my dearest helios, you are an eye-opener, the answer to every query my despicable mind could spit. the sunshine, who shot every place my eye could reach. beneath this loathsome agony, on the corner of my eye, there's a euphoric reflection of light that resonates with joy in this thick atmosphere of blues. radiation of goodness blinds me. you showed me that yin and yang symbolize how boundaries were evident—that thing restores ‘balance’ in this mere human society. cautions bore our conscience, knowing deep down our lungs we inhaled the same air. let your rage subside. our enemy is fiction; you just have to deal with this diverse society and live with it as long as fairness takes place. neither good nor bad. black, tanned, or white. simply put, a distinctive character with ambiguous morality. it does me to good; the violence of force I exerted in order to be bland to fit myself in unreasonable standards of the society. pleasing the society was never a virtue—even their own tongues demands variety of flavors. as the peace caresses my face and faint whisper echoes, “you know who you are, hold on to it, it's the earth's every reason to rotate.” crash the stigma and create balance, selene.

[xandyuna]

When Poets Dream

she grew out of the shell and witnessed life filled with chaos and clashing claws. like every eldest she remained at that cottage, unlike her younger sister never had the guts to went back and lived with their parents. the toxic tradition infuriated her, from the two generations before her. she had fun manipulating fantasy at her own dimension because she's trapped with the reality. the instructor gave an impromptu speech topic which is “if you could choose one item inside your backpack to compare on the steps or progress on how to achieve your dreams, what would it be?” she's that one girl on the first chair, first row. she shyly stood up, casually held a pen, never knew what to wanted to say. all eyes were on her, imagined they knew about what she gonna say “she writes, of course, it's a pen!” after little tiny deep breaths, she was given a two minutes to speak, no preparations. for her, the pen's purpose was to squirt ink until it can't anymore. as a dreamer, to achieve her high dreams was to keep going until you're last breath. she can't lose in this game, her every tries has own worth. after elaborating it more she stopped, even she still had a minute left, the girl decided to sat down because she had nothing more to say. unimpressed she watched every person stood in front doing speeches; some were clueless, some were off the topic, some bring lots of items, until this one girl at the back on the last chair on the left side. this girl in front had been always her support system on every group activities they were teamed up, a bubbly, expressive, and a sunshine. they aren't friends but they got closer. she didn't make the cut at first try since she bursted into tears and at the second try with wet eyes she spoke. “I bought charger because to achieve dreams one should muster lots of determination and strength. Like how this charger, make phone function, my family, my friends, my boyfriend kept me inspired to achieve my dreams. especially my family, I love them so much and as their first born I wanted to achieve these dreams so we all could move forward to a better future.” she talked much more and joked around which made the class happy. but her, she was stucked by her not-so-called friend's first sentences. why exactly she is dreaming? for who? and for what? all these and that lingered on her thoughts. she was programmed to do things so others wouldn't belittle her by all those cruel people labelled as her family. they are waiting for her to mess up and her father's ego is at sake whether she makes it or not. it's all on her dreams, was it really hers? back in the days she used to love her youth because she had the different angle of it when she hung out with few friends but the enjoyment just ends there. writing is a wild coping mechanism she was so fond of, finding peace on a shattered art was the proudest thing she ever invented to heal herself. She Doesn't Have A Dream, She Just Want To Get This Over With.