Who are You?

Who are you, stealing my right to live away from me?

Who are you, deciding to take happiness away from me?

Who are you, I ask and I ask with all my might

Why can't I grasp you when you are in my sight?

Who are you, not flinched by the mourning of the innocent?

Why can't the crying keep you up all night, of the motherless infant?

Who are you, murdering people, killing peace, stabbing love?

I write this as I see the black smoke moving up above

Who are you, tell me oh tell me, for I really want to know

Human? No! That word is too pure for you, do you not think so?

Vulnerable - A Page from My Diary

That feeling creeps up all over me, once again. Unintentionally, they make me feel like whatever I do is, or going to turn into a mistake. I feel like a big chunk of my life has been eaten up, then. I feel like I cannot ace living life, then. I feel like a failure, then. And that is not even the last thing I’d ever want to feel. They give me a feeling that I don’t belong with this life. They, without quite knowing, are killing that part of my brains, where dreams are manufactured. They, without realizing, are making me weaker and more vulnerable to the evilness lurking around me, around us. Is it the price I have to give for being loved? I don’t know. But whatever it is, it is anything but that appreciative pat I’d like to receive for moving on toward the piles of dreams I have got right there before me. 

Trust, is it too much to ask for?

Turns out, it is.

Even a tinge of sadness is unavoidable. It’s like a drop of ink that trickles into the clear puddle of happiness, disperses there, and makes the pool cloudy, making its existence conspicuous.