User blog:Vox and the Vendetta/Hiding

Only Me, was written on the day of Christmas (Dec. 25) in the passing year of 2017. It took about two, maybe three days to perfect, and even to this day, I notice the flaws in that piece of writing: it is about acknowledging the problems that other people (I have met) encounter each and every day of their lives. There is a huge problem with this. After rereading that poem, I realized that I have never truly felt anything that was going on in their lives, let alone how they dealt with their problems. I am just a bystander. I could only imagine. It disgusts me how foolish I was at the time, believing I could understand what these people were going through. But I felt a strong connection in some of the messages conveyed. I have now decided to alter the words and struggles, extending some of those of my own difficult times. Although I brush up on some overall points that all people that go through during troubling times, I stray away from those actual problems as a whole. I focus more on myself and my brother. I haven’t touched this poem in months, and in that time, I figured out more about myself. This later led to my noticeable increase in writing ability, and using it as my main escape when I may be going through a difficult period in my life. There was no clear title of this edited poem at first, and after brainstorming, I believe “Hiding” is good enough for today.

Hiding People never realize how much it hurts whenever I bring up my brother's name— A boy who has the inability to speak, to sing, to articulate— All of the sufferings he goes through each day.

He can think, he can feel, But he cannot believe and he cannot fly— Things I want him to do, but he simply cannot And at a time like this, I wish he could.

Oh, and how I drown in a sea of questions, Interrogated by a fantasy of results to what ears have decided to give the struggles a listen They crash onto me with a mixture of emotions—uncertain, bemusing. Pity and pretend—of all thoughts and ideas— That you understand the life I have to live.

Everything I force myself through...and all they are is filled to the brim with pity...I’m sorry- I'm sorry for the hell God put you through, Where each and every day, you have to go home and quiver with indecision of what may happen next.

I’m shaking.

Where as time passes, the mask of reputation suffocates you to the point of barely being able to breathe.

I’m breathing.

Where you live in constant state of anticipation that change is still there—even though you have to be patient.

I’m waiting.

But one day...one day...everything will be made right. That day when no more do you have to hold yourself back. You can come out of hiding... The hurting will be over...

However, today is not that day... It’s not the day where I can let the force of change sweep me off my feet and can kiss the pain away. It’s not the day where my brother can recite this run-of-the-mill piece of poetry without a single pause to think of what to say. It’s not the day where he can touch the sky without falling flat onto his back and I have to pray that he is okay.

Red faced, fists clenched, sodden eyes, hazy mind. The questions would come... Oh they’ll come— And they never seem to disappear.

So ask me again if I am all right. I dare you.

I’m not well; I’m nauseous and insane. Your assuring questions seem supportive, But it poisons my insides and my heart, just because I know it won't be fair. It will never be. You cannot do anything to save me from this bottomless pit of waiting. I’m hurting; it stings, it burns, it’s killing me. I’m not okay, And if you can't see that, You never will. People like you keep pestering me with these ignorant questions, pointless statements and uninspiring idioms, oblivious to what damage they are causing.

Soon it will be over.

Their masks of happiness covering up their crestfallen and indignant faces. They don't know.

Smile through the pain. Yet I still know that someday, everything will be made right...and fair...and balanced...and perfect. And you will stop apologizing for the things you did not do, or for the things you did not see. Because deep down, we’re all hiding something. We’re all waiting. You can hold me by the hand and we can jump out alive together, for each other, for me. We can breathe the clean air we breathe without the poison of memories burning our nostrils. We can cry any of the old tears we have been detaining for all these years without the rest of the world there to drag us down. We can change....

But someday is not today, even if you think so. My problems are still gnawing at my mind and my heart, devouring my emotions, deceiving me. I've been on a rollercoaster ride of all of my complications, and perhaps, I maybe even tagged along to some of yours. It never ends, but we’re damn sure we can scratch the surface of it all.

Until then, it is best for me to stay hiding- Hiding.... ...Waiting...... ...where someone will then find me.