It Can’t Be Helped | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone,

It seems like April showers came early this year. Hope you’re staying dry!

It Can’t Be Helped

I’ve been having so much anxiety lately.
Blood-thirsty craving for a stop,
instead of just pushing through.
I’m a student and I’m not allowed to stop.
If I do, then I’ll fail, causing a larger pause within itself.

Fill me up with medications.
Give me all the holistic remedies.
Lay your hands on me.
Hold me tight and promise to never leave.
Everything eventually fades,
it just can’t be helped.

Spill out onto words,
carry around lists and lists of half-dreams,
incomplete-dreams.
Let the world see your struggles
boldly and truly,
but you’re just a pile of words
constructed together to match and make sense.

Listen to my rhetoric,
feel my moist cheeks.
Understand the word choice,
feel my rapid heart rate.
Hear the rhythm, the steady counting,
feel my non-linear thoughts.

I suffer from your problems
and mine as well.
I carry them on my back, secured with a zip tie.
With each step I take,
I crumble further into the ground.
It can’t be helped.
If I fail, a larger pause will carve a deeper hole.
It can’t be helped.

It’s tough being a student. More or less, things are tough. This poem is about a small push towards hope and perseverance. Usually these more hopeful poems are more dramatic with an introduction of deep failure and then rising up to soar in the skies. There’s nothing wrong with those poems. Sometimes they can be a little unrealistic especially if each day is difficult for you, you might as well celebrate the small things. Good job you got out of bed! Congrats you brushed your teeth! That’s amazing, you went outside! From there, you’d have the courage to do larger things. 🙂

There are a bunch of layers and voices in this poem. I like to look at it like they’re all stacked on top of each other until it fizzles out into, “It can’t be helped.” When you’re hurting there’s always a need to find remedy whether from ingesting something into your body or helping others. This poems mostly focuses on writing with emphasis on releasing the piece and the styles in the piece and how it relates with the overall emotion of the narrator.

In my case, I write to help myself control my emotions, but sometimes when I publish my work, I get a little self-conscious or even the opposite, left out in the open. I learn to deal with my own critic, but I’m an artist, so my work is never good enough especially if it’s a dumping of my emotion.

Anyways, keep pushing through.

Thanks for reading!

Alice

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Strong Breeze | Quick Piece

We kicked hard on the swings and watched the blue sky drift towards us before retracting again. We pumped hard on the swings and found ourselves soaring high and feeling the wind on our faces. “You see?” I said. “I can control the wind! Every time I go up, the wind starts to blow!” I closed my eyes and I could feel myself getting higher, like I was flying away from the world. “You can be the wind-controller and I’ll control fire.” my friend said as he grinned at me. I laughed as I pumped my legs, pulling the sky closer to me. “Oh yeah? I’m going to tell the wind to blow against you!” My friend started to sway his entire body so that he was practically parallel to the ground. “I’m getting higher than you, beat that!” I rolled my eyes. “Just because your legs are higher, doesn’t mean that you’re going higher! See? My entire swing is higher that you!” We managed to synchronize our movements and we ended up swinging next to each other. “Oh yeah, you’re right. That’s not fair! You can control the wind!” my friend exclaimed. We continued to laugh and swing for the entire recess time. From a distance, a whistle blew signaling the end of recess. I heard my friend’s defeated sigh from my right as I heard him dig his feet into the wood chips, halting him to a sudden stop. I did the same and dug a track into the wood chips, feeling a couple escape into my shoe. I sprinted to meet my class, still feeling the swaying motion rushing through my body. Nothing can stop me now

Unconfined Thoughts 27 – Public Service Announcement

When I was in middle school, I read about ridiculously good looking spies, aiding in the cause of protecting art. In high school, I found myself drifting towards books with a little less adventure, but I read about people who were the adventure, how they grazed the literal fabric of time in the between their fingers or battled against the injustices of the controlling. As time grew by and as I found less time to dream and expand my muscle of imagination, the stories that I created were painted with the base of my sorrows and joys. I cried about how I felt so lonely in my own mind and with other people. I furiously compiled words together to display my anguish with my failures, leaving space for the last sentence where I spelled out that I will try again. I happily wrote about my first love and filled with sorrow as I wrote about my heartbreak that was filled with naivety. And with shaking hands, I wrote about loss, grief and panic. The words know and hold me, cradling me into the comfort of the freedom of expression.

Now that I’m in college, I browse through the books and look upon them as study guides, a path of inspiration that I could gather. What could those who made it past the publishing press be writing about today? Books lining the shelves with instances of divorce, the chance and suspicion of an affair, and teenagers with too much unreasonable angst that their parents who might as well give up. Where has the hope gone, the spark of beauty in the world? Where has the simplicity of enjoying the beauty in the common gone? Who is the beholder of the words, even though it’s still free when it feels like it goes with the ebbs and flows of the damned society?

I apologize if any of you have had to deal with the misfortunes of life, but as your mother or someone of wisdom may have told you, we always learn from mistakes. Stand back up and try again. If we consistently preach about the comfort of home, with matching cushions for each season, then wouldn’t our backbone get weak?

You’re at a dinner party with a mix between your dear friends, co-workers and their friends whom you just met 45 minutes ago. To your left, someone whispers about a boring life despite recently married. To your right, someone gloats about their new promotion while three other people jealously congratulate them, turn to their spouses and tell them that they definitely don’t deserve it. And you? You smile and keep drinking, hoping that the hour would pass and everyone would pat their bellies and file out of the door where you’ll follow in suit — the proper etiquette.

Stupidity may be bliss, but as our mothers lovingly told us, we’re unique with a beautiful story behind us. The world has enough shit happening. Why don’t we help it out by adding some more colors?

 

Written: 7/7/17 3:00pm

Final Words | Quick Piece Breakdown

Hello everyone,

Right now, it’s kind of chilly where I’m at, which is weird since I thought it was summer! Anyways, I hope you liked Final Words.

This story was sparked by a conversation I had with my friend about what we would do if the world was going to suddenly end. It was a pretty interesting conversation and I don’t know about you, but I really enjoy talking about this stuff.

I wanted this story to not blend in with the rest of the “apocalypse” stories with the plot line going towards rushing away from disaster with a newfound lover or rushing towards government authorities to confront the issue or to write a story about someone panicking. I wanted to give a strong sense of odd calamity that radiated from the protagonist. I may have focused too much on getting the theme out and got too excited on writing an apocalypse story that I forgot about describing some key logistics.

I purposely decided to not describe who the person was that called the protagonist because it could be a family member or a lover, but the idea was to remember even in the hardest times, there is always hope. Sounds cheesy? Sorry, but even though it’s a simple concept, these ideas tend to escape our mind when we’re in the midst of a conflict. I wrote this story kind of as a reminder to myself.

I hope you enjoyed the story! Also, please leave me suggestions for Noble Chats!

Alice

PS. I didn’t actually state that the protagonist died from the comet, but comets are pretty intense. It’s up to you to decide!

Final Words | Quick Piece

The phone rang and I reached over to grab it so fast that I nearly fell out of my chair. “Hello?” I answered, but all I heard was a loud, high-pitched tone. “Damn!” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “What the hell-“ I was cut off when a smooth female voice started to speak. “Emergency. This is a worldwide emergency. All beings are in danger due to imminent comet approaching in 6 hours.” I scoffed. This is probably a prank call from a bored 12 year old. “This is not a joke.” the voice continued. “Comet will make a direct hit in 6 hours. Please stay calm and stay with your loved ones. Further information can be found online through all news channels and keep updated through Twitter, Facebook and Instagram.” My hands began to shake slightly. I could’ve imagined it, but the final words that came from my phone will always haunt me. “You have one life and it’s going to end soon. Make the most of it.” And with a final click, the voice was gone.

For the first hour, my phone continued to ring off the hook as I sat still and motionless in front of my TV with my laptop quietly heating up on my lap. Messages flooded into my inbox from bosses, old lovers and high school classmates saying that I was a great worker, apologies with reasons I don’t recall and an onslaught of memories that I had long filed away. As I watched the reporter talk about the axis and momentum of the comet, a part of me wanted to believe that it was all a hoax. The government wanted everyone to stop complaining and pay more mind to them or maybe it was a rich guy’s  sad idea of teaching everyone gratitude. For all I know, the comet could even miss. I couldn’t accept that six hours was all I was going to get. Yet, I continued to diligently answer each call, reassuring, crying and yelling with everyone. What else can I do?

For the next hour, I wandered the street and tried my best not to lose my faith in humanity. Broken glass lay strewn all over the ground, couples straight up naked in the middle of the road while cars honked endlessly at them. Discounts filled stores still with clothes still swinging, but stores with bold red letters screamed, “Take it all! It doesn’t matter anyways!” with things like novelty garbage pails gone within minutes — one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. There was no point in driving because of the amount of people wandering the streets, carefree and carelessly. It was like the illusion of safety was popped and what we were left was who were truly were. By now, my phone had generally quieted down, so I was surprised when I received a call from an unknown number. “Hello?” I answered, hoping it was the same cool voice from 3 hours ago taking everything back. “Hello?” No one responded. I tried a third time. “Hello? Is anyone there? The world is ending and I don’t want to be that jerk that hangs up on you. For all I know, you might be someone pretty important who needs company.” There was a sigh on the phone and a voice so small and fragile that I had to lean in to hear. “I love you. You were the first person I thought of when the mess of the world started to unravel because to me, you are the calamity and color of the world.” A final click ended the call. The final words comforted my soul and I walked down the street under the rapidly deteriorating and fearfully raw world, their screams lifting up to meet the incoming comet.

Grocery Run | Quick Piece

As I drove through the storm, the swishing of the windshield wipers reverberated the rapid thoughts fluttering in my heart. “Give me a break.” I muttered as I squinted at the road as the lines slowly disappeared. “I’m just trying to buy some groceries!” The droplets pelted at the windshield, reminding me of things to do, things I haven’t done and things I’ve half-assed. I aggressively flicked on the left turn signal as a subtle F-you! to the doubts in my head. I finally pulled into the parking lot and with a rumble, the car sighed to a stop. In waves, the rain hammered at my car. The wind howled like a ghost whispering about my impending fate, yet the rain continues to pelt, Finish your work! Get out there! You’re wasting your life! And I shout back, “You ass, I don’t want to get soaking wet!”

I pushed my faithful cart down the vegetable aisle, thinking back to the time when I nearly choked and died on a long green bean. My mother told me to eat my vegetables and as a seven year old, I thought I would “rebel” against her by shoving all the green beans she made into my mouth. My logic was that the faster I ate my veggies, the less time I would have to deal with them. My plan was foiled when one strand decided to hang out in my throat. I shuddered as I headed towards the fruits, picked out a couple almost ripe apricots and picked up a couple mangos. “These would be great in a smoothie.” I said while weighing them the palm of my heads and gently squeezing them. “Or I could straight up eat them.” I wandered around the store for a little longer, passing by the many chip bags and the craft beers. “I like this brand. They put a little more granola in the cereal than that one.” the girl said, waving the cereal box in front of her boyfriend’s face. I passed by and he glanced at me and I just shrugged. “Fine. Let’s get that one.,” he said, throwing the box into the cart. I sighed and remembered when I had someone to bother. “It’s okay.” I said standing in the check out line. “I can always bug myself.” “Excuse me?” an old lady in front of me turned around and looked me up and down. “Are you okay, ma’am?” I nodded and smiled as I watch her pay and wheel her groceries away, her little grey bun bouncing up and down.

I walked out to my car and noticed that it stopped pouring. Little lakes and oceans littered the parking lot, capturing a sliver of the blooming sun in each of them. I glanced at the vibrant blue sky to see a full and beautiful rainbow. And with that, my doubts melted away and splashed into the puddles.

Bella | Quick Piece

Outside the window, the birds happily flitted around announcing their cheer for the world to everyone who was listening. I just happened to be listening, but I wasn’t too happy that I had no choice. I stared at my blank computer screen and saw a sad reflection of myself. I wiggled my eyebrow like a mother would to entertain her child, but I felt no joy erupt from within me. I picked up my phone and checked the time even though I had a clock sitting on the shelf above me. It read 3:20pm, too early for dinner, too late for lunch. My eyes refocused from the numbers and onto the smiling face I had set as my wallpaper. Every part of her was radiating with joy that was matched with a brilliant smile. At the corners of her eyes, they crinkle with a gentle reminder that she was a woman with a story. Perhaps she was a mother or a sister or someone’s lover. I cracked a smile, but the phone’s screen shut off, brutally reminding me of my balding head, unshaven face and acne broken face. I resisted the urge to fling my phone into the wall like I did with my old phone and put it down on my stack of World War II books. My mother gave them to me every single Christmas and birthday until I stood up during one of my forced parties and announced, “I don’t read those fucking books. I don’t understand why you think I would enjoy them.” Needless to say, that was the last party and the last time I saw my mother. In fact, I see that anonymous smiling woman on my phone screen more than I see her or any other female. The last time someone came over to my place was a couple weeks after I was unofficially denounced from the family. That someone was my best friend and when I was younger, he would be the one to bring me out of my “lock-yourself-into-your-room-and-sulk” phase. When he came over, I decided that I wanted to stay in that phase, so he left. I checked up on him, through Facebook of course. He got married three years ago and another bloke was the best man even though I had agreed with him when we were twelve that I would be the one no matter what. I guess that contract was bullshit to begin with anyways. I have to admit that that was what caused me to fling my other phone into the wall. You see, I have a strict bedtime routine where I would check up on him before I fall asleep and you can piece together what happened after I was disrupted from my routine. I just went to Amazon and ordered myself a better and nicer phone and put a new girl as the wallpaper.

I looked out the window and noticed that the birds had quieted down and night had fallen before I even knew it. “Well, I must’ve been more productive than I thought I would be.” I muttered to myself before rolling into bed and pulling out my phone and checking up on my ex-best friend. He has a daughter now named Bella and yesterday he put up a video of him doing her blond curls for the first time. Her laughter echoed in my ears and for the first time, my chest erupted in joy and I burst out in laughter only to end in solitary tears. I reassured myself and whispered, “That was a good laugh. Better save that up. Don’t worry, everything will be okay.” I gently kissed the phone screen and slipped it under my pillow, closing my eyes. A single tear rolled down my cheek, bidding me good night.