Fantasy

I crave to kiss you,,I wish to hug you,
I desire to care for you, I want to believe in you

I dream to live with you, I yearn to love you.

I want to look up to see you, ‘cos you’re my star

I covet to fly above the sky to hold you

‘cos you’re my angel up in sky.

I simply want to be with you,

But how can I do this with you…

If you’re not true.

A Chicken with Love

I love chicken dishes but I can’t eat one anymore. It’s not that I consulted a doctor and they forbid me not to eat chicken anymore. Okay, I forbid myself. What a hard decision to make, and I already ate one lat night. It’s all about chicken alright, because I’m frustrated that whenever I ate one a CHICKEN-POX-LIKE suddenly comes out at my wrist and legs. Is it a curse? Because I love chicken wings and chicken legs? It makes me hard to breath; so chicken dishes is my killer now? But i love chicken, It made me realize the worth of the saying ” too much love will kill you”.

what a sad life, so the meat of my life now is fish ( yeah because I’m not eating pork). I’m crying because of frustration and idiocy of my thoughts because I’m blogging this. The hallucination of chicken haunts me. It is not my farewell to my beloved chicken yet, I’m going to a doctor so he can give me right med so  I can enjoy chicken again. So again chicken… FLY TO ME 🙂

Just Another Day

I woke up this morning with my madness waiting. sweating all the sweats and after that, eat my usual breakfast ( the bread and lemon). As the sun rises I prayed for a brand new day, but today is just another day. I wish my chord to change; from numb to bliss, old to new, repeated to inconstant and dreary to riveting. Yeah I know… I should try something new, Something new that abreast me to change.

YOU

I saw the good in you,

Out of everyone else around

And this foreign feeling I will pursue,

An unknown feeling so profound.

You glowed from everyone else,

In the crowd of crows, you were a dove.

Refuse to lose this feeling that dwells

Which I think is called…love.

WHO AM I

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Lost…forgotten…no one will listen,

Only I are there in the world of unfair,

I… a person in a mask, the master of disguise

Two face I have,

One is upbeat, the other is heartsick

I in dread never slip in fret.

Then He arrived,

When I least expected.

My heart moved by His words,

Relieved in distress

From having so much to say,

My savior…My best friend… My first love.

Repair I must, to love I shall

My life,I will change

But I’m so far away

God I ask,

Bring me near to you,

Forever in debt…I shall worship you.

There Is No Such Thing As a Small Story

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                Story, is a narrative, a report and depiction of a journey designed to amuse or instruct the hearer and reader. A timeline of an event and an evolution of something that can be real and fictional. Like a painting it has colors and beautiful subjects that gives expression to the work of art, showing the harmony and balance; creating equilibrium between the head and the heart ( emotions and thoughts). If a story is compared to a painting , the color is the characters with their different roles and personality while the subject is the beautiful thought of the story.

                Everyone has their own story, life is beautiful and a magnificent thing. Everyone can be the protagonist of their own story, they can change their story for good and bad; for better and worst. Like a painting, they can paint it in white, black, a single color or even a mixed color. As I listened and read other people’s story everyday, I find it amusing. There is no such thing as a small story because sometimes stories can change a person’s life cycle, it can be for good or for worst possible things. Some may not caught other’s interest for we have our own claims in our lives , but there is no such thing as a small story; Even if it is just made by the world’s nonsense person it is still a great story to be heard and read.

THE BOX

In the five corner of my room ( well typically there are 4 but mine is different) I saw a box and like a shadow it follows me wherever I go. Its color is pitch black and at first it is small but as the days go by it grows until its height is as mine. I can’t sleep well and I can’t help myself to think about the box. I decided to stop my nightmares about the box. It still follows me so I stop, sit and tried to touch the box. As I touched it; it cuts me .It is sharp like two edged sword. The scary feelings came back. I hurriedly get a mason and started to whack the box. It can’t hurt the box, and it started to open and revealed what’s inside of it ; a black piece of paper with a written white word saying “ I AM AGONY” . I put the paper back and hurriedly ran to my bed but the box still follow. I prayed and beg to God making it disappear. In an instant a white box appeared. Is it a joke? Another box that I can’t get rid appeared. I cried, but a peaceable feeling emits in the white box. The black box moved; shorten our distance but In my surprise the white box moved and ate the black box. I curiously touched the white box, it doesn’t cut me. I opened it and saw a white paper and read the letter saying “ LOVE”. I cried and cried and cried an hour popping my eyes out realizing that my agony haunted me and God’s love saved me. I kept the white box. I always hold on to it and share it to others. When my agony comes back I always in a hurry to open the white box and I realized how much I’m loved from the day I was born, to the present and until my journey ends. I must also thank the black box, because of agony I see how great love is. Love conquers all.

Rough Hands

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The warmest hands you can ever feel,

the most beautiful hands you can ever see,

the pair of hands you wanted yours to fit perfectly.

Rough hands, how much I want to hold, how much I want to feel.

Rough hands are trophies for the greatest effort you accomplished,

how much I want to flaunt, how much I want to brag,

In your rough hands, carved your greatest determination and love,

Oh rough hands, It will have an infiltration,

In the heart that see the beauty you withhold in ….your rough hands.

Her name is S.A.L.D

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Her captivating beauty, wearing her bloody red lipstick. A dengerous paws with poisonous claws. Her proud poise and with her deadly curves. The clutch of death and the lips of sweet revenge.Hypnotized by her beautiful glare and killed by her hello. Behind her smile is her black aura, how scary a woman can be… Her name is S.A.L.D

She’s

A

Little

Devil