First week at work (in verses)

It’s nine in the morning

My boss is M.I.A.

The day has been boring

So sudoku is the way

doomerism

car horns sing a symphony
as plastics dance to the beat
while workers hear the melody
of a country full of deceit
unfinished buildings loudly clang
to the tune of minimum wage
in the alley, a ruthless gang
ignore the schoolgirl’s age

a mob of angry people shout
at the government to object
but what are they talking about?
life couldn’t be more perfect
just work your ass and pay your bills
and your dreams will soon be whole
you’ll get a house above the hills
as long as you pay with your soul

bullets run through children’s heads
and the world just bats an eye
villains rule, a virus spreads
indeed, the end may be nigh
and yet we live without a blink
like zombies under a spell
right now it’s not insane to think
that we died in twenty-twelve

---

Here’s a constant disclaimer that I am bad at writing poems.

a september night

what did the night sky look like when i first opened my eyes?
was it bright and hopeful of the child staring at the sky?

maybe orion saw me and silently thought to himself,
this child will be soft-hearted; in hunting, she won’t do well

callisto might have been worried that i would stray a bit too far
“whenever you’re lost, be still, and look for my brightest star”

perhaps the moon had blessed me with a philosopher’s eye
but is it really a blessing if i never stop asking, “why?”

a comet could have passed by and left with a face so stunned
to see the tiniest face with eyes as big as the sun

but they are celestial bodies and i only live on earth
it is highly unlikely that they’d predicted my birth

what did the night sky look like now that i am twenty-three?
with the way i have become, will they be proud of me?

Flames (on the side of my face)

I’ve never been good at writing poems and I think I’ve said that enough. Yet for some reason, every time I feel something so intensely, I still decide to channel this feeling into phrases and sentences that rhyme.

I don’t remember when I wrote this one, but damn son, whoever the subject of this poem is, you must really be despicable lmao.

Dystopia

Deceitful looks were flashed onscreen,
Intelligible words masking Their schemes.
A bright light shines, Their faces pristine,
Newsflash: everything you see is not what it seems.
Naive and blinded, the people become mute;
Every lie that They make, people see as the truth.
Fearing oppression, we rally the youth.
Let us learn from history and advocate by foot.
Our future awaits, now gather the crowd; let’s
Raise our fists and make our Motherland proud.

---

Written on November 26, 2016.