Bitter Coffee; Sweet Catastrophe 

Every morning grew with an unsatisfied slumber. Eyes too strained from the hatred of discontinued sleep, mouth dry from the unconscious sounds they emit when darkness caress my skin. A long walk to the kitchen counter, I rushed to the heaven-made machine that is silently waiting for me on the counter top.

It laid still as I approached it. Reaching the brown powder that’s caged securely in.I scooped a fair amount as I suddenly inhaled the aroma that can lull you to eternal comfort. What more is the taste?

Expertly, I pushed the ever familiar button that will start the lown experience. A bit of energy left in me, yet the machine never stops oppressing of what’s left.

My Nirvana came in in a plain white mug. Slowly to the rim but never failing. Still steaming from its pressing process as hot water was mixed.

How lovely is it that one menacing beverage can make me forget my flaws from yesterday. The bitterness that surrounds my tongue would wash away profanities that this mouth and mind expresses. Your wonders will last through me for an entire day. As cream covers your bitter taste.

Fading Limbs

As the ocean succumbed me to its never ending void. Bright ocean blue to dark abyss of this floor I yearn to breakthrough. Securely chained by a golden anchor that now I see is worthless. This very thing is the reason I’m struggling now. All the ambitions I have to crush for me to reach just the peak of the surface, and yet I still can’t let them go.

I may never say I am used to the feeling of capitulation, no. The waves of the seas and the roaring splashes of the ocean may never forgive me. Yes, ironically as it sounds. Even if they’re chocking me in great distaste I still care for their perspective of me. Still insecure even if I feel far from anything for them. Still submitting, still drowning.

Suffocated me with words they all spoke in unison. In a march, one by one pierced through my lungs; left it heaving. Anchors pulled me down and down and down, my ankles are lifeless yet I paddled still.

Treading water never felt so real.

Canvas

A pure white canvas, many envied it. No such thing as dirt was imprinted. Dirt that was carried by time and its drastic waves of torture. I felt it in my palms the smoothness of its surface; roughness in a way but never enough for a scratch.

I studied this pure white canvas, its easel slowly breaking somewhat signaling me that I’m almost out of time. My world spun like it never did as I studied the canvas in front of me. Wide eyes while inspiration flowed through my fingers. I grabbed the paint brush sitting next to me. Clarity struck my mind and ideas sprung. Eagerness to please, hands not failing.

Now it was drawn on, painted on, colored, and unrecognizable because of the stain of sin. The canvas was full, I lost my breath.

Dear Crumpled Paper

I walked into a classroom with arrayed chairs and a green inviting board. Spotless as it seems to be. We began our seminar and my attention has never been so undivided my whole life. The wind blew its breeze and it struck us on our skins. That’s when I saw it, the image of a calm and fixed crumpled paper in a corner where no one bothered to look. I never remembered why I diverted my eyes from our lovely speaker but you’ve already captured my gaze, interesting me of what you are.

It boggled my mind in many things of what may be inside of you. Worthless words? Nonsensical drawings? Doodles? I may never know, but it was haunting me to my very pit of interest. My curious mind can’t comprehend of what you are. Because what you are is what I want to know.

Never ending questions were still flowing, streaming, formulating of what you contain. It’s on the point of me thinking maybe you were just a useless first page of a paper pad? A failed poem of a lonely lover? Scratch notes of a math equation? I don’t know! I can’t control the thoughts I have of you. You’re making me think of things that are very complex and completely waste of my time and yet, you still amaze me.

Why were you crumpled? Why are you here? Was it your own intention? Will I ever know? Complete waste of my time causes this head of mine to spill in never ending circles of what you are and what you are to be. Something maybe so utterly useless you were crumpled, forgotten, unloved, and left alone. You weren’t that much of a use were you? Did you think so too? That you’ll amount in something? Like a perfectly written essay? A love note resulting to a cheesy and romantic ending? Drawing of perfectly detailed hands? What was in your head? What were you feeling while young hands crushed and threw you on the floor to be much more of a useless nothing?

I may now be losing patience. I can now hear the imaginary tick-tock of the clock and still, my mind is occupied of you. Blankly, I stared at her face as her red-tainted lips danced with words coming out of it. The latter of my thinking is on its shore, I’m ready to grab it. It’s a shot in the dark but I know it’s worth the thinking. Will it ever occur to me? Because to me, you are something simple, something untouched by sin, crazed with nothing but purity. Empty.

Never you were used so you may never be called as “useless”. You didn’t have any sense so you were never “nonsensical”. You never had something, so they can’t call you “nothing”. Disregarded are your abilities while it was captured by time and dimmed pointless. Misunderstood by oblivious judgement you faced, now resulting as trash and imperfect. Crinkled and ruined, you ought to be something more. Now I know what you may contain. That maybe I’m you in a different place.