Sometimes I am not myself,
Sometimes I don’t even know what being myself means,
Vain, shallow, stupid,
So fucking indecisive,
So fucking misunderstood,
Sometimes I am not my best,
But I expect that I should be.
Then I remind myself that it’s not fair
I remind myself to be patient, to be kind,
Maybe it’s time to be alone,
Ah, this solitude – this guilty bliss
The temporary freedom
to be anything and nothing
Just so I can hope to be myself again.
*
. It starts small
with a tiny wormhole at the bottom of your purse
Sucking your hair clips
your rubber band
your pens
your masks
your peace of mind…
And the wormhole gets bigger
your helpless regretful forgetfulness
engulfs your scarf
your earphones
your wallet
or your beloved water bottle
that you left at the restaurant
in the auto
in the mall
at the hotel
in the train
where it was finally lost for good.
About time we close the wormhole
but damn,
it only gets bigger
sucking your gold earrings
your car keys
your phone
your ATM card
your job
and your sleep.
Oh fuck you,
Will you stop?
Of course not, will upgrade!
Why just things?
When we can also lose trust
or your hope, or your health
or your time
A minute, an hour, a year
or an entire lifetime.
Let’s lose people
your ex
your friendships
your relationships
a person you loved the most
or a few
or maybe just you.
Where do I find them?
My time,
My memories,
My people,
Scattered in bits and pieces
in places I can no longer visit
How do I ever find them again,
my lost things, my lost self
that I miss so much?
**
How many days have you forgotten? How many days are there to forget?
How many deeds have got you deceived? How many are there that you regret?
Crushed under opinions, hidden behind good impressions,
Caught up in denial, under vain beautiful expressions,
The clock is ticking; the so-called time is flying by…
And yet you lie stuck searching for the I in your I…
Adapting, conforming, certain things have to be learnt
Lost and confused yourself, some dreams have to be burnt…
Between the choices of rights and wrongs,
You stretched ignorance for too long…
Now, relevance doesn’t make sense,
The prospect of living is too intense,
There is a thin line between the choice -whether to live or to die…
Just how far will you go to find the I in your I?
Why should you chase the sound if echoes are perfectly fine?
Why should you chase chaos if life is perfectly aligned?
Tired of possessing things that you don’t even deserve,
Tired of invading space that you should have reserved,
A persona is all you have, Identity is long gone lost
A thing you thought you bought; now you have to pay the cost.
And the clock is ticking and ticking; the so-called time is flying by…
And yet you lie stuck searching – Where is the I in your I?
The Turquoise Ink 