The Medallion
As I grasp it into my hands,
T'was heavy, t'was gold
T'was with sparkling colors
It held the weight of the world--
But not the weight of my heart
People hung it to my neck,
Not knowing it was strangling me
Overloaded my mind with the unnecessary
Looked up to me with false dignity
My brain
is not a cabinet
Which you fill with everything
Til it breaks and overloads
Just to be functional
My score
is not my self-description
To testify my being
Not even a tiny piece---
Of who I really am
My birth is not to impress you,
Not to give you smiles
Not to please you
I am born to be me
You have seen me wore the medal
But you haven't seen my cries
While the rope was touching my neck
While the medal was strangling me
'Til my last breath.
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The Passionate Corpse
PoetryCorpses are gross, dirty and foul-smelling. At times, they're scary to look at. But curiousity enthralls upon something unpleasant. Amidst the ugliness, it satisfies the dark part of our soul-not meant to be human. Something about it is unnatural...
