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  • rekeshallys 18w

    All my life, I've looked at words
    as though there is winter in the only dry and wet
    seasons of the Philippines.

    I've looked at words as though
    the violin and its bow met after a long time.
    As though words are a parasol of red,
    affirms me of protection and passion,
    yet rainfalls still get me,
    the sun nevertheless harms me at 14:22.

    Words are the places printed on a map
    I never knew existed when in a zoomed
    out display.

    They are like a total stranger I,
    only knew the outside.

    ©rekeshallys


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    Pic - Pinterest

    #writingcontest #creativearena #words

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    All my life, I've looked at words
    as though there is winter
    in the only dry and wet
    seasons of the Philippines.

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 20w

    The Monster

    At around fifth age, newspapers of my parents' death were sand in my eyes at midnight of the Monster's party.
    I had weeks of anxiety about the near-death until I got the cipher of the newspapers.
    It won't happen yet, I understood.

    Childhood was merely the time I lived in the illusory plays and fights with friends and foes.
    I began to pace around all-day as per the wish of the Monster.
    Teenage wasn't so sweet either.
    As for another command of it, my eyes became stuck to the pages of various mental illnesses which fed the Monster.
    It's so alive this time!

    So alive to have me laugh for the next months, chained in the bed of perpetuity under the name of particular scenes and phrases which I couldn't stop.

    A simple line from a song, a mere slideshow from my story, "Why are you asking?" makes my mind snatched from rationality.
    During exams, voices say I'm another person over and over, "You're a rich, spoiled brat," it says.
    Or I am the character in a series.
    You tell me how to stop these; how can I not laugh when the Monster controls me?

    Guilt becomes the reason for my hunchback and the appearance of fake attorneys who smelled like the pungent overly-sprayed chemicals in my house.

    I'm so ashamed, I scream like the drama queen with a tarnished reputation, only I am silent.
    I even thought I was a literal insane person who pretends to be sane; doubts chewed me the way sharks' teeth feed on their prey.

    "You're gross," the Monster repeats, and I argue and shout at it when I'm alone, "It's not true!"

    © rekeshallys

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    The Monster

    // caption //

    © rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 20w

    I choose to have faith, for once, have faith and trust, where I rely on and be calm. Nothing in this world matters; everything will end here, except we think and feel, so we seek for purposes. And so, what's necessary becomes subjective. We only live here to do what keeps us purposeful, surviving, knowing, or alive, and that becomes what matters for us.

    Whatever is beyond all, beyond what we can see or perceive, we would not certainly know. No human is capable of knowing everything. No one can know what lies ahead. All the beauty and majesty of the universe. What did even spark the creation of all these? Why is there a cycle of all these creation and destruction?

    Doesn't faith, whatever yours is, helps us sane and alive when we can't handle doubts and misery?

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 24w

    It's Just Another Day

    I dreamt of a woman who had crawled the Earth.
    I woke up with cries,
    for she walked in the Dream as she crossed the Earth.
    It's just another day.

    I ventured the old from the Roundhay Garden Scene in 1888
    to the foreign exchange students of 1955.
    The Kiss of 1896 and the recorded working rotary snowplows in 1902... just days of another.

    My favorite was the trip down the market circa 1906.
    Never knew of my life,
    never knew I saw old through the chariots they ran.
    Touches of laughter met with the pavement of the kids.
    Commodities soar toward the residents of gratefulness.
    The hospitality of the merchants echoed along.
    It's the street of busyness and nonchalance.
    Anemoia, who were they?
    Why, with the glee, I feel melancholy?
    It's just another day.

    My sadness for the dead Earth's passers-by,
    either we met or not, ties you give me!
    You make present a fitness arena for the wind ahead.
    And now I questioned the superiors and the Highest.
    Oh, it's just another day.

    © rekeshallys

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    Picture - Pinterest
    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

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    It's Just Another Day

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 24w

    Expectations are your size ten feet, which you fit in the size eight shoes, unaware of your feet to suffocate after an hour. It is confidence in the start and disappointment in the end.

    ©rekeshallys

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    This was for the Creative Arena, but after pressing the submit button, only then did I know that it was only for premium members; this is one of those failed expectations ��

    Pic - Pinterest

    #expectations @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod

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    Expectations
    are your size
    ten feet, which
    you fit in the
    size eight shoes,
    unaware of your
    feet to suffocate
    after an hour.
    It is confidence
    in the start and
    disappointment
    in the end.

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 32w

    For when you are hated, everything else that you say and do is a crime for them.

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 32w

    Doubt is the companion of Worry as it searches for Certainty.

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 33w

    Papers

    Papers I stuffed with queued missions.
    Papers? You use that word for documents.
    Papers that I speak of then, I weigh as creased certificates.
    Papers I give myself, for, in my fantasy, I can do many.
    Oh, the dream it sells, but along with it, the expectations,
    So often failed.
    Papers I have discussed, put inside a suitcase,
    I carry all-day.
    Yet the end of that all-day, I looked,
    and still full of papers.
    I have not finished any.
    Ah, it's a 24-hour quandary.

    ©rekeshallys

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    Yep, when I fail to do my to-do-list :p

    Pic - Pinterest

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #papers #pod

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    Papers

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 33w

    Life is too short to give PAST the power than WISDOM.

    ©rekeshallys

  • rekeshallys 33w

    May your awful memories finally turn into pure wisdom and not shackles that still have power over you.

    ©rekeshallys