Leaf’s Diary

Just a little blog for when I need to blurb my feelings through literature <3

[diaryofweepingflowers]

You Can’t Catch Me Now

I rebuke your venomous words, your horrible view on the character of others, and your atrocious attitude towards the imperfect. I shall sail across the oceans be it the pacific to the Indian or to the articic. You will never find me after this ceremony. I free myself from the chains of your harmful expectations and from you. You shall stay on your timed life as I refuse to subject myself to the thought of being left behind. You force yourselves to live your life on the clock, on a measure.

You will never catch me nor will you ever come close to enlightenment.

You will always see yourself as gold when truly you are mere rust on common iron.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

I sometimes get the feeling that I would never be truly happy. After my trip to Australia and arriving back in my home country, I felt this dread. That my life was truly worse than that of a teenager a thousand miles across the pacific. How it felt to long for a life so different from what I have now. I realize that the academic tension only existed in the land where I was born. I feel like an animal trapped inside a zoo with the facade of a sanctuary.

[porcelique]

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“It’s a rich man’s world”

Thump

The weight of numbers plastered on paper is down with a whiff

How ironic that paper is worth more than a life

Even items that lack a price tag can be bought with such

Our words, our loyalty, our silence, and our lives

A material that once belonged to the world now makes it spin and contort

The world belongs to us!

No, not anymore

The world is now exclusive

It belongs to the rich men for sure.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“If walls dare speak”

If the walls around me dare speak, they shall whisper about my pain first. They will speak amongst themselves about the weapon the humans call words. In this house, my room is my fortress, my safest of spaces.

When I can’t speak, then let the walls of my fortress vouch for me. They shall speak of the tears that escaped me. They will be the ones that speak of the interrogations when I desperately wanted comfort.

As much as I plaster paint onto the walls around me, keep them quiet, they will always watch and continue to talk.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“From oceans to stars”

I am too much of an Icarus myself, a conch from the deepest of oceans, yearning to reach into the fiery sun. Although my oceanic nature prohibits me from such. Nothing shall stop me from crawling my way across the sea bed. Once I set foot onto the burning hot sands, my only hope would be to witness myself, picked up by a mighty bird and flown toward that marvelous star.

Despite that, I stay too long. I expect too much. How would my dreams come into fruition if I wait for another to tend to it for me? I sit there slowly losing moisture. Feeling the granules of sand sticking onto my skin. Some tiny enough to squeeze into my shell, making it uncomfortable to move.

Why do I do this to myself? I start off strong and determined but once the thought of “being lucky” starts to seed into my mind all of that prowess soon loses its appeal. Days later, I am no longer there. I am no longer moving. I am simply a shell, dulled by sand and by the heat from the out of reach star.

I once heard that shells are the stars of the ocean. It’s comforting, yes, but also pitiful. How could a star so colorful end up in shame, desperately pleading to be changed?

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“The Mother star”

Who will be there to witness the death of a star?

Maybe from up close, Maybe from afar

Watch as it struggles to light up it’s expanse

Witness how their life leaves them to prance

Grief is a shadow who always seems to wait

To grieve oneself cannot be someone’s fate

Stars are beautiful until they are burnt

As they see their light but then they are hurt

A star expects the tender warmth from the sun…

Maybe they try to fly close for once… twice…

Until they’re scorched into ash…

They never learn their lesson and it has been for a while

But how can they stop?

For they love the sun too much

For without the sun they wouldn’t exist in the expanse of the galaxy

They are indebted…

They are required…

To watch the sun as it painfully burns away at them.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“Fault”

I know you shouldn’t find fault in the person for their traumas. But it doesn’t matter if you have trauma if you use it as an excuse to be an unruly person.

I hate my father. He takes the joy out of life. He hates one of children and dotes on the other. It’s as if you can see the change in his person. He yells at my mother and demands respect. I don’t care if he’s the breadwinner of the family. He’s a big fat bitch.

He throws money at me and assumes that, that will make me respect him. I do not care for money. I do not care for him. He can curse at me all he wants. Yell as much as he could. The only remedy for my hurt will remain to be a simple apology.

As a child with a single number for age, a tiny creature just confused. A tiny little girl wailing as her father hits her for the fifth time. She doesn’t know what she did wrong. She just knows that she’s supposed to love the monster that’s hitting her.

At 14 finally everything clicked. Nothing this hooligan does is normal. He doesn’t know how to be a father. He doesn’t know how to be a husband. He is not a man. A man doesn’t curse you out because he knows physically punishing a child, a woman no less, is punishable by law.

At 16 she hears argument after argument until a glass shatters at the dead of midnight. What can she do against a man?

At 18 he finally cracks and stops pretending. He yells at her mother in front of her and makes the woman cry. How dare he disrespect my mother like that? He doesn’t deserve to hold the title of a family man. He did not give my mother the wedding she deserves. My mother deserves an extravagant wedding and a beautiful memory.

You cannot call yourself a man if you spend your days like a demoralized sack of shit. You stare at other women instead of your wife. You constantly “joke” that you will separate from her on day. Try it. See if you can. I will make sure to testify in court that you were a shit father and an even more shitty husband. You are a fucking disgrace, a disappointment, a disgusting pigsty of a person.

FUCK YOU.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

To the man who paints with his words,

You do not need a special day to be reminded of how remarkable you are. In your own quiet, brilliant way, you’ve always stood out like one in millions. Life has a way of trying to weigh down free spirits like yours, but no cage could ever contain the wonder you carry within you.

Your words leave color where there was once only gray, and you move through this world in ways it rarely witnesses. Please, never let the noise of malice paint your world black. Keep creating, my dearest poet, for this world is lackluster without your paintings.

- 🍃

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“A weapon of word”

Speech is like the stabs of a sword
    a sword wielded by a familiar frame.
Why must a child be stabbed in the heart?
    She cowers and hides
        as she is struck open.

5 years of age
    she learns to grow up.
14 years of age
    she drowns in recreation.
18 years of age
    she mends her roughened heart.

    Melancholy are the whirlwinds of the heart.
But his hatred is bubbling 
    like molten hot lava.

By his decree
    she must be jeopardized.
By his contempt
    she must be inferior.

But by her desire
    faith will help.

Speech is like the stabs of a sword
    but when wielded right
it’s a sword that nurtures
    and protects —

a sword proudly displayed
    for protecting
        and guiding her well.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“Maharlika”

Maharlika, Maharlika

Sino ba naman ako para mahalin ka?

Isang taong hampas-lupa, Isang taong gipit

Hindi ko maintindihan ang tibok ng pusong sa'yo'y nahumaling,

Sa bawat sulyap mo, ako’y tila alipin.

Sa bawat hakbang mo, lupa'y lumuluhod,

Habang ako'y nananatiling luhaan sa gilid ng pag-ibig mong mailap.

Maharlika, Maharlika,

Nasayo ang korona, sa'kin ang pangarap.

Ngunit kung puso mo'y hindi batay sa dugong bughaw,

Baka may pag-asa pa ang pusong dukha.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“Amidst Haunted Nights”

Hold yourself true, against the pale hues

That translucent white color floating with few

He was pale as pearl, yet not made for touch

I would not call it love, the presence of such.

He haunts with every glimpse of a thought.

These memories I keep that barely fit in a pot.

He was like light in the dark, a sudden glint

The lights I constantly follow a will-o-the-wisp.

Each shadow he casts feels heavy, yet thin,

Each night I see visions of her and just him.

I reach through the mist, the hush of his name—

But silence responds, and nothing’s the same.

Still I wander these nights, my heart quietly stitched,

Drawn ever onward, by ghosts that bewitched.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“Trust in thyself”

Born within this world, a mighty warrior,

Whose strengths soar with outright vigor.

Then comes those foolish enough to taunt,

But alas, they could not destroy the warrior they fought.

How powerful can one be without thy support?

For this one is an enigma, one devoid of any ally.

He hops to and fro between familiar shadows—

In lands he is known, yet he is alone.

Once, he was benevolent— for the people he was, a shield, a guide, a light.

He was one that shaped the weary into might.

But kindness, in time, was met with deceit,

And so, he walked where no hearts beat.

The winds know him, but they do not call.

The stars see him, but they do not approach.

The rivers remind him, but they keep on with rush.

The willows taunt him, and soon they are cut.

His past relentlessly whispers, yet none dare tread on anything delicate.

Whispers that spark thought.

Thoughts that provoke.

Does the warrior walk in thine own expense?

Or is he but a pathetic little bird with wings much too broken?

A soul meant to soar, yet bound eternally to Gaia.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“Reserved”

Nobody talks about the embarrassment that comes when you’re in a crowded room looking for a place to sit. The anxiety begins as soon as you step through the door, scanning the room with hopeful eyes. You spot an open seat next to your friends, but as you make your make your way towards it, they put their hands on the seat and says.

“This seat is for U̷̩̭̠̤̰͋̾̂̇͛͑̄́̊̋́̆ͅņ̶̝͙̬̮̳̮͚͉͙̭̱̃̂̿̎̔̿̓̄̎̑͊̐̕̚̚͜k̸̠̣͔̲͈̲͈̝͌̾͘n̷̤̝̺̽̄̀̏͒͝o̵͍͎͖̤͚̖͎͉̘̻̞̭̣͇͙͊͐̉̒̽̊̈́͛̓̔͆̄̇͐̏͝w̶̥̜̣̬̱̺̯͚͙͎̲̦̼̑̅n̷͍͗̆͑͂͗͗͝”

“Go find another seat”

You feel that crack in your heart slowly forming into a canyon, leaving your feelings bare and vulnerable. You toughen up your act as you attempt to feign nonchalance. There you are, right back where you started—carrying 2 bags on your shoulders, weighed down by embarrassment and disappointment. You look around with blurry vision, wondering, if there will ever be a seat that’s waiting just for you.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“That American Kind of Love”

A love that is extravagant

A love that is shown

That is the kind of love that the little girl in me yearns for

For all the love I have received was a puzzle

I had to crack

Pieces missing, Edges rough

A love I could never quite figure out

I will not undermine the love that was given to me

Nor will I say I was never loved at all

For the love that I hath received

Wasn’t the love that I need

I want to be held and spoken to softly

Not shunned and cursed for being lonely

I want to feel wanted

Not be cast away and hated

For I saught a love so tender

But I received a love oh so painful.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“Down Goes Icarus”

I yearn for the warmth of the sun,

to shed the weight of the earth below,

To live within the heavens,

and to abandon my sufferings.

Do all it takes to fly.

Break the chains and take off in flight,

For I am no longer bound, no longer shy,

Free to chase after the ever-fleeting light.

[diaryofweepingflowers]

“Check up on me please”

Always the one to remember.

Always the one to be forgotten.

It pains me to know that you kept your problems to yourself.

Opening your phone to no messages.

Facing the reality that nobody is concerned for you.

You laugh around the people you care about but as soon as they leave, you crumble.

You carry your heavy heart with faux fulfillment as you drown yourself in work.

Nobody cares and you’re scared of that.

You stare at your empty inbox hoping, waiting, yearning for someone to

“Check up on me…. please?”