2013-04-02 - 5:58 p.m.
I am awake with what is left of me;
rage coated in cold silence,
conscience slowly drowning in a trance.
What do you see?
Nothing but only what you want to;
a harmless, weakling little girl to you.
I let you believe what you wish me to be;
a kid who will never talk back,
your favourite, mental punching-bag.
Ironically,
I am also your rock to lean on,
someone to take your fall and be strong,
making sure nothing else goes way too wrong.
What about them?
Why is it always me?
I have never agreed to be a part of this term.
It keeps dragging on,
refusing to set me free.
It is only a matter of 'when'
before I have no more space to breathe.
I am still awake with what is left of me.
I understand that I will never be your first priority.
I know I am not supposed to be
such an overgrown baby.
Still, that is all you will ever see,
because you just have no idea
about what I can really be:
I am stranded in between.
Half of me has run off screaming,
while the rest is still locked in.
This time, who is going to win?
Will I ever remain sane
with this on-going, struggle within?
R.
(Jakarta, April 2, 2013 - 9:45 am)
