Writing

collection of my poetry and short stories

Cubicle Curse Series: Temple

My body is a constant reminder of all the frailties I desperately try to hide from others.

My eyes are blacken and sore from numerous early morning exchanges between myself and my ego. It tells me how much it loves me when I get a glance from the crowd but also how much it hates me when I choose to lay in bed alone. 

My back is scarred and knotted from all the things I never said, wish I said, thought I loved, and from things I thought loved me. It tells me I am beautiful, extraordinary in a sense but nevertheless few steps short of perfection.

My lips are weather-torn and bruised, darken by the words I hold in anger, bleeding from the words I scream, and soften by the melodies I sing. It burns with the traces of my former lovers and the dry remains of intimacy. 

My hands are bleeding and stained with ink, the walls bleed and weep with expectations as I remove the bricks from its home. It crumbles in my hands and turns to light, freedom...freedom. 

I am fragile but I am enduring. I am fragile but I am learning. I am fragile but I am loved. I am fragile but I am peace. I am fragile but I am human.