The moment my soul live in her body, I became a stranger on my own. Staring at the mirror intimately, naked and broken. Crying and sobbing. She stares at me. Who are you? She asked. I trembled who am I? What would be the answer to this rigorous question? I am that little stones you have stepped on. Small but never fragile. I am that stone. I want to feel the pain but too numb. I am that ballpen on your pencil case. An ugly ballpen that is out of tint. A ballpen you choose to keep. I am that broken chair in your classroom. I was neat and was clean but they destroy me. They cut my feet. They vandalize my hand. They destroy me. I am that flower you forgot to water, I started to lose my beauty.
BINABASA MO ANG
Her Book Of Sorrow
RandomA prose and poetry.. This book is me Embrace my piece Discover my entry And you will see how lonely it is to be me.
