All Things Terribly Made

I am counting the days until a supposed-to-be significant fate comes crawling back on this lonesome roof. It has been nearly a year but I'm not so sure if I want to be here just yet. If I was into painting, I'm sure I would not picture a gloomy house in the middle of daylight. I was a devotee of painful sleepless nights but even the sun haunts me alive. These endings without any means of escape incarcerated what was left of my past. And while midnights bring change and bliss to many, I am trapped in a world without end. If anyone would have heard the voices I kept under my tongue, they would've recognized the sorrow withering my insides.

These unrecognized wreckings have been stored for many decades, some I do not own but they exist beneath my skin, the other half is a part of me I have fed to violence just so they would shut us up. Painstakingly, I wouldn't know what made me this insensible. I cannot tell if dwelling in anger makes me more human or if I am just becoming more mentally incapable of seeing things the right way. And leading things the right way. Some would tell me tragedies were bound for yesterday but now I couldn't tell a soul what a resolution should look like. It's as if facing a stupid mirror but I don't wish to see myself bare from those eyes. There's nothing in a season of love that everybody keeps in their pocket but damnation. It is a horrendous memory of brokenness no one should be looking back into.

I had something to reckon on when I'm oblivious to greater things. Along with the stars I yearn for, I could no longer connect the lights with my little hands the same way I look around this land. The familiar cold will come by knocking like a nightmare as if I'm on wishful thinking every time the bells ring. That if I am to suffer, I should be of age so I could see past myself and tell that I've been there my whole life.

Anyone would say, I must be such a loser for never believing in a wish and grandeur kids these days grow up for. Because I have long abandoned many dreams. I have discarded a potential life before it even flowers in my mind. But what I believe is a world full of chances only to people unimaginably torn. But such pettiness like growing up without remorse for a once whimsical kid cannot be undone even by a miracle. Or a ruined house without fixing. Perhaps, a life undeserved. Or in oddly written diaries, an endless day full of ugly uncalled emotions other than rage.

Much worse being born during a desperate day when I cannot choose to exist or just rot in bed. Yet I am paying for each day I didn't ask for. I am reminded of my place as a daughter and a sister and it's sickening. Why should I be different? What made me rightful to mother my kin when I needed just the same?

I despise how it's burning me alive with guilt but I'm also wearing thin. And this ruthlessness verging on the corners of my pitiful body had kept me sane all these years. But I'm out from the merciful hands of coincidence and life. I could bargain century twice for my inexistence. I am only a loss from a scarred vow. The broken pit. A hole in some perfectly shaped castle. An angered wave endlessly reached out to life. Only to dissolve all over again.

@rks.wuhdrelis

_{A warrior of liberty. With ink stains on her mind and soul. Maayong adlaw! This page contains the information you might want to know about the author. She goes by the name Arques and is under the username @rks.wuhdrelis. She lives in Cebu, Philippines, and is a proud Bisaya. Arques is an 18-year-old girl, on a mission to her dream college and a writer wannabe is her reputation... Read more.}