It has been such a long time I didn't pour my soul here. Adult life is hard for me to comprehend, and frankly I am struggling. I have countless of poems written somewhere in my subconscious mind and unlike before, I kept them hidden in between my twisted mind. I don't have the urge to let the madness in me to be released in the form of lyrical words with stanzas. I miss writing poems that reflect my mind. I miss going to the plays and be immersed in the moment of disbelief.
So how are you now? My dearest self, how are you doing? Are you really happy or are you faking every strength so that you think you're alive? How are you doing, as a wife, as a teacher, as a person, are you really doing well?
All these whispers in my brain are eating my soul; my rotten decaying soul is out of words and out of sanity. I feel like living a life without hope, without faith, just barely living. I am not making sense, I know. For some people, as long as you have a job, you have a husband, you can afford to pay for your car and your house loan, you made it in life. But not for me. I am still searching for ways to be happy, to be content. I feel like a doll, being pulled and pushed around by some invisible hands. Tormented, tortured; but my body can't do anything to save myself.
If only people would pay me to write for them, or compose poems for them, perhaps I may finally feel at ease. Because right now, all I care for is whether I am becoming a good teacher or not? Am I able to deliver my knowledge to my students? Do I have the strength to take all the shits students might give me? Am I strong enough to face the challenges coming from every direction?
I am weak. I cover up to mask my weakness. My silhouette is slowing fading, I can't keep up with my true self. My facade is going to disappear. The beast will be released. But, will I make it in this horrible horrible world I'm living?
Ah, I think I'm going insane.