Story

Weight I push it up the slope. I roll this boulder. Days, months, years, Generational collaboration. When I get tired, And it won't go any further, I hold it in place. Never fully resting. Was the weight meant to be this heavy? And how far am I meant to take it? Wanting to let go, But never letting it. Others concede, calling it a day. They let the stone roll, It rolls. Down, down and down again. With their day ending there, A family ceasing. But I won't let that happen, I tell myself that, I think.

Nightmares I sleep to take a break from the realities, But sometimes it seeps in. This place where I'm supposed to be free, To feel actually safe for once, yet it kills me. My legs are supposed to rest, After running from them. Yet even in my dream, It burns, I'm scared, I'm running. Nothing could be worse than the day, That idea rolls through my mind, It's what keeps me together, hoping to sleep, But when I do, I want to wake up.

  Bonfire Night Today is November the fifth, Where we celebrate the old myth, With fireworks popping at night. Colours that are ever so bright. They paint the night in light and sparks, Receiving impressive remarks, From those children who stare in awe. Waiting, Watching and wanting more.

I'm not Immune I hear it everywhere I go. Eventually, they say it, As jokes or criticism, The bladed words that sink deep. Each time I laugh along, Believing it's nothing, Immune of some sort, Knowing that I'm used to it. But there is always a small part. A small part that stings, Slicing the scar once again. I hide it, not wanting to make a fuss. I try to pay no mind to it, Not wanting to seem weak, Trying to preserve our bond, And believing in our connection.

Never back I won't go back. I won't ever return, To that place. To the past. If I could relive my childhood, Rewrite my regrets, And be with everyone, I wouldn't even try. Rather being haunted, Fade out in pain. Lose myself again, Than rewind. There's the start line, And I've left it. I've no reason to go back. Nor look back.

  HALLOWEEN It is that time of year, Where we let the darkness unfold, With our children having no fear, Embracing the eeriness and bleaky cold. They can finally dress-up and go and explore With their family and friends, To knock on their neighbours door. They skip through the darkness with buckets of sweets, Completely unaware of the dangers hiding on the streets.

People   Person 1 has a perfect record, They're admired, they make you feel jealous. A genius, talented, ideal model. Confident and natural. Now Person 2 is a hard worker, They're reliable and experienced. Dedicating hours, learning ahead. Not perfect but respectable. Person 3 fluctuates, dipping in, trying. Failing, with some successes. They are lazy yet creative, Sociable, likeable and relatable. Person 4 wants to be lost. They are towed along, A long one way road, One day hoping the fuel runs out.

A Waste Just a blurry image. Unfocused, Without realising, I zone out. Unbothered,  Unfazed by their words, I pretend to listen. They're not worth my time. I count the seconds, Wishing they would stop. They're wasting their time. Wasting my life.

Memories There is a white wall, It's plain and empty. No scratches or dents, Just pure and blank. As I grow older, The wall catches up to me. Slowly filling up, Scattering with action. It's filled with love, My best memories. The highlights of my life, The things that make my blood still flow. I keep it up on the wall, Never touching since it was first placed. It holds my heart in my body, It keeps me breathing.

My Diary I spill these words down the page. The ink sinks deep into the fibres, It spreads and thins, Imprinting thoughts I'll never now forget. I express the past, this today. The events, the highs, the lows. All my feelings just blurt out, Onto the page, engraved for life. The pen scratches along the page All on its own. My fingers writhe along, Unable to keep up. I'll know one day I'll look back at it, Maybe in the far future, when I have kids, Or I'll leave it aside for future generations, But for now I'll store them up and lock them away. I close this book, As the day ends here, I'm able to move forward, Without dwelling on the past.

To Confess I want to confess to this person. They're fair and cute, exactly my type. If I were better, it would be easy, Yet I feel that I cannot in my current state. Maybe partly because I'm shy, introverted. Or maybe I use it as an excuse. Compared to them, I'm someone they'd pay no mind to, So maybe I don't, afraid to be rejected. My mind is clouded by meaningless thoughts, Believing that it will feel empty if I confess now. I don't want to be an embarrassment being around them, I force myself to wait, to improve myself first. I know. I know I'll be too late, They'll be paired up before I can ask, But I still make myself wait, Just in case. Just in case, it does come true. I wait.  I will wait. I prioritise my goal first, To be more worthy,  Needing this presence.

Still Waiting He's been followed his whole life. Tailed and monitored. Pressured by standards, With a road splitting, two. A single step out that path. He's degraded and mocked. They never forget what he said, Using his own words to haunt and shame. This makes him learn. Not how to socialise or be free, But to hide, lie and keep secrets. Making him alone: inside, home and out. When he's asked a question, He thinks of an answer. Not with his own thoughts and emotion, But the optimal response, fearing. More than 18 years, This false life. He patiently waits for a chance, Not to fight, but to run away.

Insecurity It falls, Droplets, Becoming shower. Opening up an umbrella. It continues falling, Spraying at this wall. It drips off, Left unscathed. It still showers, But dying down, Into droplets, Into nothing. Yet, the umbrella is still open. It covers that face, hiding, Not wanting to be seen, It's not raining, yet it stays up.

What am I doing? Gets up, now awake. Sighing and sullen. Wonders how many days passed, Never even counting. Same routine. Same clothes. Same journey. Same working. Different people, no. Different event, no. Something new, no. On repeat, yes. Relieved when it ends. Able to return home. Hoping to sleep again. Hoping to never rise.

Which Face? It has one face. It's quiet, mysterious, Blending in. Barely noticeable. Then it turns. It has two faces. It's polite and carefree, It has a presence. Hearing it again and again. It turns once more. It has three faces. It's manner is questionable, Rudeness tinged on jokes, Slipping out from time to time. It turns once more...

My Passion Someone strikes a match. And they pass it to me. In which yet again. I light another candle. Its flame is spirited, untamed,  But full of warmth. It frequently flares,  Bright and hot. It lingers. Encapsulating your heart, Gripping tightly. For a time, some time. But like the rest of the candles That lay in the room, It will have the same trail. The same two paths. Either left alone to wither, Or pursued to its full extent. Either the flame is extinguished, Or melted away into a pool of nothing.

Sound of my Rain Pitter patter pitter patter, It falls down with a splatter. It slides down, Some quick, some slow, It drips. It splatters. I never know when it will come It's a cycle. Starting high, Ending low. Tears. I can't help it.

Rumours A dim rows of stars wane across the vast horizon. Underneath, the streets dimly glow, The midnight wind spirals, gathering litter and leaves, And with an updraft they disperse. Scattering all over. Faint outline of a figure, Starved, malnourished. A young boy. He creeps along the side. He slouches with a contorted spine, Etched with lies and deceit, Branded by signatures. A captive. Tethered and rooted. He croaks with his fissured lips crumbling, Fading to the whispers, Carrying a plague. We've heard of them We've never seen them or known them, But that's what we've heard. So it must be true.

The Race I've done it! I've finally passed the finish line. All that effort, I've drained it all. Months of preparation and practice. I face my family, my friends. I ask. 'How was I, did I do well?' I'm ecstatic, I can't control it. The excitement hovers. It hovers. Only brief moment. Then the dreaded stern face stares once more. I look back for the tenth time. I am at the start again. The finish line is much further this time. The never-ending race I'm forced into. No time to rest. I must run on. I don't want to be left behind. Not again. But the main thing I think of is, Can this end?