Weave of compassion

An unfamiliar pull of emotion embraces my mind.
Is this the result of our social landslide or new corners?
Unaccounted knowledge, strain, and cries are defined,
As an expectation that just brings more mourners. 

Sometimes love moves too fast for you to get to know it. 
And it feels like a journey to receive.
Remind me that I am a member of humanity with grit. 
And that compassion is my weave. 

Overwhelming binds of difficulties and smiles create a collection. 
A weave of existence.
Holding onto a silly hope that one can be shown affection. 
There is persistence. 

Collect the trinkets of your memories that you lived through, 
To string each thought into a piece of art for your debut.

Look Again

Real treasures never flaunt.
They are humble, and considerate.
Although they may haunt,
The things they do are deliberate. 

Should I be searching?
Or will it fall in my lap?
Dangerous people are lurking,
When you don’t have a map.

Inherent and cruel may these places be, 
Constantly brewing ways to keep you wee.
Wishing to learn the path to be free,
Alone, or with someone, should I just plea?

From the outside I see how I am blind,
With an internal storm, I stay resigned.

Can something go my way?

My eyes bore into nothing.
Again.
Does everyone have to?
Explain?

Lists and endeavors cover my pages,
Ideologies, rules as well.
Explanations of dark ages
And how my heart has lost its swell.

I used to care about big things,
Going my way.
Looking for a hairbrush is a pain.
I can’t convey.

Wishing my face held a forever frown,
Because it feels comfortable.
No matter what, my certainties worn down.
Existence is insufferable

Performance

Process

Just like any other teenager in their junior year of high school, I was not prepared to experience the craziness of the pandemic-school-extracurricular crossover. On some days, I would be listening to school along with two other sisters in the same room. I wanted to go outside after a day of school and hang out with friends, maybe get some overpriced bubble tea. I began to fill the missing interactions and experiences in my old routine with writing. On bad days I would write in my journal about how I felt, and further those emotions with poetry. It is a really nice feeling to look at your own complete, composed poem with rhyming, imagery, and other literary aspects that describes your emotions.