Read me, read me not. I'm easily amused but also easily unamused.☠️

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  • chezeriel 4w

    I first saw you
    as a stranger in
    my favourite cafe.
    Sipping coffee
    unaware of pair of
    eyes taking glimpse
    of you from time to time.

    You love to carry books
    around you.
    Sometimes one,
    sometimes two.

    For two years,
    I settled myself being
    contented of seeing you
    everyday sipping coffee
    and reading books.

    For two years,
    I never got the courage
    to tell you that
    I love the way your lips
    move when you read.

    For two years,
    I silently laughed with you
    whenever you started cackling,
    first a muffled sound
    until you burst into laughing.
    And realizes you're surrounded
    by people, you blushed ranting
    so many apologies.

    For two years everything
    seems okay but not today.
    You came in bearing a heavy heart,
    suddenly the cafe seems
    crowded and suffocating.
    Your eyes wandered around
    and stopped when it meets mine.

    "Of all the sad words
    of tongue or pen,
    the saddest are these:
    'It might have been'."
    You dropped a note,
    confused, I search an
    answer in your eyes.

    "That's John Greenleaf Whittier's
    words not mine."
    You said and left,
    but came back crying
    "It might have been you
    I'm going to marry tomorrow
    if you just had the courage to
    tell me of what you feel!"

    I smiled sadly,
    slowly moving my hands
    creating signs I'm sure
    you don't understand
    for creases slowly appearing
    in your forehead.

    "I love you,
    but I was afraid
    you will not like me,
    I'm not capable of talking."
    A tenderhearted old
    woman translated
    my hand gestures
    to you.

    On coffees, books and regrets,
    the cafe was my cosmos,
    my very own universe,
    pretending stars are
    beautifully aligned
    just for you and me.



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    //On coffees, books and regrets//

    "It might have been"


  • chezeriel 6w

    The unwavering pain
    trying to manipulate
    my heart.
    For the first time I felt like
    my heart is as gigantic
    as the universe.
    There's too little space
    in my ribcage for it to fit in.
    I can't breathe.
    I wonder how a picture
    can hurt you so much.
    How your occupied mind
    turns blank in an instance,
    or how those blissful thoughts
    can be clouded with nothing
    but what if's or
    how I wish it was me.
    How the movement of
    his lips trying to create words,
    words which you want and not
    want to hear at the same time.
    I wonder how this all work
    hand in hand to create havoc
    in my mind.
    And here goes my heart
    beating normally but still
    I can't breathe.
    Love heals.
    Love destroys.
    It can be a salvific song
    for the heart or
    its deity of agony.


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    The unwavering pain
    trying to manipulate
    my heart.
    For the first time I felt like
    my heart is as gigantic
    as the universe.


  • chezeriel 6w


    Recreate a poem by keeping the starting line and ending line the same as the original poem but change the body of the poem, and the twist is your recreated poem should be contrasting with the original one.

    Here's an example:

    The original poem

    By Henry Scott-Holland

    Death is nothing at all.
    It does not count.
    I have only slipped away into the next room.
    Nothing has happened.

    Everything remains exactly as it was.
    I am I, and you are you,
    and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
    Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

    Call me by the old familiar name.
    Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
    Put no difference into your tone.
    Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

    Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
    Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
    Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
    Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

    Life means all that it ever meant.
    It is the same as it ever was.
    There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
    What is this death but a negligible accident?

    Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
    I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
    somewhere very near,
    just round the corner.

    All is well.
    Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
    One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
    How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

    If you feel like making your own recreation poem, used this hashtag so I can read your piece #recreation_poem


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    My Recreation Poem

    Death is nothing at all.
    That's absolutely a lie.
    It had cruelly separated me from you.
    Everything changed. I know.

    This extenuating circumstances,
    poisoned our old life.
    The beautiful future we envisaged
    will no longer become a reality.

    I ached for you,
    calling my name in sorrow,
    you're completely devastated,
    knowing my death will be another life
    but this time all gloomy. Uncharted.

    I can clearly see now,
    as clear as the blue sky,
    your laugh will always
    be concocted with cry.
    As my name settled in your lips,
    there's no more joy in it,
    but only pure pain.

    Death means all that it ever meant.
    A ghost lurking in the shadow,
    A raven, as reincarnation,
    A life separated from your love ones.

    Nothing is well,
    All is lost, everything is void.
    Within the last second of my breathing,
    I knew what lies ahead for me,
    unimaginable uncertainties.

    With death comes my way, our way,
    How shall we laugh with the trouble
    of parting when we meet again?


  • chezeriel 6w

    Reality versus Fantasy
    (An argumentative poem)

    I reality, provides you a tangible scene,
    a sensation of touch that crawls in your skin,
    you can hear me, even my muffled scream.

    I fantasy, provides you a sense of satisfaction.
    I can bottle up painful reality
    and throw it in the vast ocean
    like it never even existed.

    Oh, dreamy land is what you're only good at,
    Flying unicorns? Friendly sharks?
    I reality, with just a single snap,
    palaces and princesses crumbling in my feet,
    how can you be better than me?

    Oh please, don't be so arrogant!
    I fantasy, people come to me.
    I rescue them from your cruelty.
    You may be better than me,
    but I and will always I,
    will be human's sweet escape.

    Dream on, they will come back to me
    after every illusional sessions with you.

    Only because they have no choice!
    You tarnish every hope, ruin every dream!

    I rather be like that!
    Than let them live with imaginations and such!

    You don't understand!
    People need me to survive!

    And so?
    They need me, to keep them being alive!


  • chezeriel 7w

    I walked through the welcoming viridity, my feet dancing with the grass. Such a beautiful day it is, I never felt so alive. Yesterday it rained so hard giving enough water to all living green around my lawn. The soothing redolence of my favourite daisies are like the personal perfume of my humble abode. Mom was right, having plants around you can make your every morning blissful. And speaking of mom, I need to visit her! Oh! Road trip in the countryside is going to be fun. I prepare in haste not wanting every second gone to waste.
    Soon enough, I'm already in the middle of the road. I open my car's roof, oh, how I miss this, the wind caressing my skin. The road runs along the shoreline and from my spot I can clearly see the glistening blue sea. Of course, beach! Why did I forgot about it, I won't return home not until my soul get connected with the cold blue waters. I can now picture myself in bikini running in the white sand, I giggled with the thought. I turned on my car's radio, roadtrip and music that's inseparable, and I couldn't get any luckier as my favourite song came into play "stuck with you" I sing along and forgot how many songs I had sang until I finally arrived at my parent's small bungalow house.
    I wandered my eyes around the place, it seems like I wasn't even gone for years, everything was the same and it feels so good to be back at my favourite place. I peeked through the left side part of the house and found my treehouse standing proudly as if waiting for my arrival. I smiled as the flood of memories played in my head like a movie. "There you are! Welcome home sweetheart, how was your trip?" My mom asked as she hugged me. "It was so amazing mom!" I giggled.
    "Okay, why don't you come in, your father is so excited to see you but is pretending that he don't, you know that old man, so many dramas in life." I laughed with my mom's dialogue. "Leave it to me mom, I'll make him confess" I wink at her and run my way inside the house. There I saw my father reading a newspaper. "So, does this mean you haven't missed your favourite daughter that you can't put away your newspaper?" My father gave me a blank look "This is a must read, climate change had affected many lives drastically." "Oh, really dad? I wonder how you manage to read it when it's upside down." He checked the newspaper and started laughing "Okay, you got me."

    I spend my whole week in my parents territory. I had done so many things and now it's time to go home. Mom gave me bundles of fresh fruits and vegetables fresh from the garden. I arrived at my house exhausted yet happy. I went directly to my room, rummaging through my drawer looking for my special friend, I smiled when I saw what I've been looking for, my diary.


    "Mom! Mom!" I panicked when I saw my daughter running while calling my name. "What is it sweetheart? Are you okay? Anything wrong? Are you hurt?" I bombarded her with questions when she finally came close to me and she just smile. "Nothing wrong mom, in fact I have something to tell you, and I'm pretty sure you'll love it!" My nine year old Katherina so giddy that I can't help not to smile. "Okay, spill it." "So, I've been thinking, why not we go to the beach? Or the farm where we can see fresh vegetables and fruits? And mom! Have you seen a tree house? How does it look like? You know we can visit those places. I promise, I'll be good with my studies, let's just visit those places. Pretty please?" My smile vanished upon hearing my daughter's words. "Where did you get those ideas?" I asked her sternly. "Here!" She was waving in her hand my mom's diary. I sighed, why I haven't kept it properly. "Look little one, we can't go to those places anymore" Her expression changes her eyes telling me she's confused. "Those places doesn't exist anymore. Look around you, every thing is made up of steel, we're surrounded by machines that even most of our trees are artificials, only few survived." "But why mom? Why did this happened?" I cupped her face feeling sorry for her, I stared at her eyes "Humans existed, that's what happened. We had ruined the once Beautiful Earth."



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    Beautiful Earth
    (A short story)


  • chezeriel 8w

    In the world full of voices
    there's nothing to hear
    except the tyrant scowling
    of my Aunt Mayling.

    Sometimes I thought it's
    my mother's lullabies that I hear.
    But by every clamor of her
    hand when it touches
    my already bruised skin,
    I'm reminded,
    I'm trapped in the den of lion,
    any moment, she'll devour me.

    I saw the most beautiful woman,
    my mom reaching out to me.
    But when the decorated string
    in my neck tightened its grip,
    I saw Aunt Mayling's devilish grin.

    Yet again, I recall, mom is a thousand
    miles away, she's not here to save me.
    But as the hard wood kissed my body,
    I see angels singing, their lovely voices
    bringing me closer to mom,
    my mom who worked all day and night
    that seems perturbed yet hopeful,
    knowing money at the end of the month
    will land in her hand and with giddy heart,
    she'll send it all to Aunt Mayling saying,
    please bear with my son,
    he's a bit shy but trust me he's very kind.

    I wanted to close my eyes,
    for I feel like the clouds seems
    to be settling in my feet.
    And mom appears to be
    a goddess wearing the wreath
    I dreamt of gifting her.

    I smiled, knowing there's
    no need for me to wait,
    mom's head is ornamented
    with wreath made of hope,
    I don't want to take it from her,
    but I can't hold on anymore.
    My little body, can't hold on anymore.
    As my head beautifed with wreath
    of agony and suffering,
    that I can no longer
    distinguish reality from dream.

    It's always like this,
    I see mom, carrying me in her arms
    with all the love the world can offer,
    but I also feel aunt Mayling's wrath,
    as her heavy hand tortured me.


    I wrote this as my heart was broke to pieces last night watching the news about a seven year old boy tortured to death by his auntie.
    His mother is working abroad hoping she can give better life to his son through money but it turns out it brought him to death instead.

    And the most unacceptable fact is that, the auntie claiming she loved the boy and the death of the boy was suicide.

    The boy was seen lifeless sitting on the floor while a string was tied in his neck.

    I don't believe a seven year old can think of suicide. Children are innocent that taking their own life is impossible to cross their mind.

    Besides, the bruises in his body, tells a different story.


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  • chezeriel 10w

    The sudden ardour of desire
    enveloped my senses that
    I can no longer reckon
    what's right or wrong.
    His kisses are like wine
    so intoxicating that
    I'm losing my mind.
    His touch feels like fire
    bringing forth sensation
    I couldn't explain.
    This feeling so alien
    yet I'm deeply engrossed with.
    Tell me if this is wrong,
    oh, bring back my senses.


  • chezeriel 11w

    Dear God,
    I had witnessed how
    humanity eloped with evilness.
    With this sudden drive,
    the execution of brotherhood
    took place.

    The rusty truth about human's
    selfishness ruined the poised
    of wisdom you had given to us.
    The inflation of our sins rocketed.
    I am so sorry that we became
    like this.

    What should I do to
    make it up to you?
    Or what should we do?
    You're too kind and generous
    for giving us second
    chances over and over again.
    You've shown great
    tolerance over our evil deeds.
    But I guess it's about time
    to teach us again the lesson
    we tend to forget.

    For us, that we may see
    the error in our ways,
    and may our hearts be
    convicted from our sins.

    And to avoid heeding counsel
    of or closely affiliating with
    those who take delight in
    walking disobedience or
    doing wicked things.

    Give us the punishment
    we truly deserve.


  • chezeriel 12w

    A letter for my Comb

    Hello dearest buddy!
    Sorry for not remembering
    you these days.
    Lockdown has truly separated
    us from our morning routine.

    When was the last time you had
    caressed my long wavy hair?
    Maybe a week?
    I truly don't remember.

    I was looking at the mirror
    when I noticed how miserable
    my hair looks without you.

    These days, every time I woke
    up I don't spend time rummaging
    my closet looking for you just
    like before, I settled on using
    my hand and do finger combing
    and tie it in a bun but mostly
    I don't mind finger combing at all.

    I never took seriously the
    constant nagging of my father
    that I need to at least make
    myself presentable even
    I'm just staying at home.

    Yes! Quite new that a father
    nags, but who wouldn't?
    When you're seeing your
    daughter looks like been
    in war for centuries with
    her so unacceptable messy hair.
    I doubt he wouldn't at least
    give his daughter a hunch
    of how she almost looks
    like a witch.

    My hair looks lank and lustreless
    falling around my shoulder like
    a strings of rotting straw.
    Ugh! Very unhygienic isn't it?

    But staying at home means,
    "Who cares of how I look?"
    As long as I don't smell bad
    I think it's okay.

    Besides, it's not always
    I'm like this, just this lockdown
    made me not care of how my
    hair would look like nestling
    in my head.

    And I think, I'm giving my family
    a wonderful once in a blue
    moon chance of a lifetime.
    They're allowed to criticize me
    of how I look in my lockdown state.

    My dearest buddy,
    please don't feel bad.
    It's not that I don't love you anymore,
    I just quitely don't need you for now.

    Remember how possessive I am
    when it comes to you?
    I don't like sharing you even
    to my sisters,
    you're mine and mine alone.
    That affection still applies
    for you until the last day of
    your service to me.

    Don't worry.
    Starting today I won't make
    you feel alone anymore.
    I'll let you play
    with my hair again as
    you shower each other
    with love only you two
    can do.

    I will always love you even
    if old age starts stealing
    my hair away from me.

    So, smile na.

    Your possessive best friend,


  • chezeriel 12w

    A poem for all Mothers

    You had lived a selfless life,
    in your love we are glorified.
    Every day that we live,
    you give colour to it.
    We, your children,
    will always be thankful
    for your unmatched love.
    May you live longer,
    exceeding the sacrifices
    you've done for us.
    Our Mother, we love you,
    maybe not at all like your love,
    but we're completely
    offering our hearts.