Above Her Feet

Questions why; sometimes, indescribable,

Other times, inexpressible; ends with silence.

One minute or the more; spotlights splurge,

Questions surmount; interests endlessly sprout.

A humble heart remains; snugging in its comfort,

Distracted by the uncertain; to no man's bait.

By an honest friend; she learns to trust,

To ends that meet none; it betrays her thrust. 

Comes the answer why; imperfection unaccepted,

Tolerance unlearned; better living her own.   

Mend A Broken Heart

All of her days, she chose to be obedient.  She did not cry for attention, but an obedient daughter, and a loving sister she wanted to be.  She put aside all rebellious thoughts of a teenager.  Those thoughts were built in clouds, never into actions.  

She said 'No' almost conventionally to alcohols, cigarettes and drugs.  People laughed at her chicken-heart.  The debate concerned not her boldness; she adhered to the rule parents know best for their children.  How could you say no when the greatest pleasure of indulgence left you defeated?  Her expression of discontent ended to illogical arguments.  Whom should stand for her; whom did she have, but families who discriminated her beliefs.    

Their never-good-enough comments were deafening.  "Am I, any worse than the son who crashed your credits on self-destructive pleasures?  Am I, any worse than the daughter who ran away to a foreign land to a stranger?"  

"How could you not accept me?"  

the other daughter.  

A Distant Call

She searched her soul, searching for a happy moment to brag about.  She wasn't unhappy.  She was indeed happy for a series of changes that was about to take place.  It was a moment to celebrate.  For the first time, she was overwhelmed, almost smiling herself in the way.

Perhaps, maybe she was overreacting.  She paused at the consequences of her self-indulgence.  All the happy moments came to a sudden stop.  "For once, a change," that was not meant to be.  

Distance was a test to see how far love can travel.  And love, it didn't travel far.    

"Let it go, let it go..."  She pulled herself up.   

Role Model

Infidelity was intolerable.  

"Choose, and ends it straight."

She closed her eyes to digest the newly-fed information and the words challenged, "Everybody's normal till you get to know them."  This day had arrived earlier than she had predicted.  Flashbacks threatened her, she wanted them erased.  It hurt when a sister she was and all the more for her to follow the steps.    

... when love betrayed.

Green-Eyed Monster

She lived with a perfectionist, who worked her days off from morning to night.  She was a working bee which never failed the queen.  Yet, they were known for the works, works which were done by only one bee.  She nested late as a company, not for the honey.  Who would have known, but herself.  None perceived.

Perfectionists were lauded for their works.  And, their best friends, they would not dumb it.  Thus, they praised, she extolled; however, imperfectionist never did it right.  Her lavish praises irritated others.  In return, she received a shut-up look.       

She did not idolize her works; strength could not find to uphold such burdens.  But, wouldn't you want a high achiever?  The monster warred within her.  Hate not, my dear, hate not.  

Dishonest intentions, she did not, but she just wanted to be happy for the person who deserved the credits.  She wanted to be happy for her.  She deserved the credits.    

A Faint Blind Date

If you were real, I wished that we met before we went out on a blind date.  She read herself like a book; she knew what she would do.  The date, she would spoil.  There would be no happy endings.  So, let it be without me knowing.  Unconscious.  Period. 

You sound so real to my ears; she found him haunt her dreams.  Though she denied it, she could not escape the fact that he spooked her to life.  

She was no attractive girl, yet she could not accept no unattractive man.  Love does not find its grounds on such superficial reasoning.  No, no; she scribbled a list of words to sum her My Dream Guy.  Such man did not exist, she realized.     

I agree to live old, thus intimidated her not.  But, if you were real, her life would be written with a different story.   

The Old Book

She flipped through the torn pages, each written with promises.  The old book, which she used to read, was now abandoned, on the shelf, untouched, buried under the dust.  Supposedly the stories made a flashback.  Instead, the stories were dead.  

My soul is dead.  Open this book, and be my author; let my soul springs forth with life.  My life needs no sparkles nor glitters; it needs a story.  You are the author, who wrote this story from once upon a time.  Be that author who ends it the way it was meant to be.  Me and my big mouth shall speak no other stories but yours.

She closed the book, and placed it back.  

She needed a miracle.