Poetry

‘Apple of my Eyes’ and other poems by Mariel Avecilla

By: Mariel Avecilla

Apple of my Eyes

The paradise wast did fill with—
creatures, plants, floweth’rs in myriad div’rsity.
each one possessing peculiar attributes,
but all of those enthrall’d me
not, f’r only one did seize mine own he’d and scrutiny.
‘Twas the apple—
which bewitch’d me.
Did feed me to unconsciously
doth things Gabriel did encourage me to doth
not—hoodoo’d me to taketh mine own halo
off and p’rf’rmmisde’d.
until the l’rds detested and abandoned
me, and I hath fallen on monstrosity.

He was the apple
which my eyes cherished and treasured.
And I made the biggest mistake of
falling into his bait—
his lies and promises.
Unaware of the consequences and
persecution I will receive
from the eyes of society,
because of only one thing—
the man with no trace of truth and chaste, him

###

Undaunted

Do not let voices dictate where you go,
Endure the tides you have been longing for;
Only those dead fishes go with the flow.

Waves are not treacherous place to wallow,
It might toss—lead you to another door;
Do not let the voices dictate where you go.

Well-nigh everyone tours shore that’s shallow,
Abiding the confines thrust by the constrictor;
Only those dead fishes go with the flow.

Listen to the internal cries of sorrow
Of stoic people who took the same path before;
Do not let the voices dictate where you go.

Break the chains tied to you and your fellow,
Have courage, do not be filled with terror;
Only those dead fishes go with the flow.

Refuse to be imprisoned, go grow!
Crush the walls to parade your true color,
Do not let the voices dictate where you go;
Only those dead fishes go with the flow.

###

Here I Am… Again

Here I am… again barely moving and breathing—
All alone, not even speaking,
Left with my demons that are battling,
Crowded with people who aren’t even caring.
Is this a blessing in disguise?
Or am I experiencing a thing that I secretly despise?
My being is being ignored and pushed aside
Seems like I’m out of these people’s sight.

Here I am…. again in this full room of these so-called “friends-of-mine”
Though it seems even if they see me slitting my wrist, they won’t mind.
Are they really my friends or am I just daydreaming that they are?
This question’s bothering me for millions of hours.
I’m screaming for them inside my head, hard
“I am here, I exist. Here me out pard.”
They didn’t notice,
And that’s tearing me apart piece by piece.

Here I am… again, being a freshman
Though I’m a senior and should be turning into a woman
I am here again, feeling helpless and friendless,
I am here again, suffocated and restless
With demons creeping in
Wracking my positivity that is paper thin—
Shaking, panting with wide-eyes
Pinned to the ground, unable to rise.

Here I am… again confused with the voices I’m hearing.
Are these from my demons or from these fake people who love stabbing?
“You will never be happy”
“We’ll remind you of your loathed memory”
“You will relive your past”
“You will be lonely all your life, lass”—
Crashed and defeated, my hopes crumbled,
With running wet and salty tears I decided still to be bold.

Here I am… again emotionless holding a smile,
Hoping to fool people all the while.
Trying to make people think I’m happy and full of life.
Little did they know they are the reason why I was left with no hype.
With their little mocking game, I was left with no one to trust;
With their insensitiveness, my openness no longer lasts.
Thank you for making me realize people are not flawless.
I’m sorry, if I’m back giving you all reservedness and coldness.

Here I am… again, barely moving and breathing
All alone, not even speaking,
Left with my demons that are battling,
Crowded with people who aren’t even caring.
But now I’m used to it,
Not even bothered to socialize and befit.
Have found bliss in solitude, eventually
Exhausted of this messed up society.

###

Who Would Choose Daisies Over Roses?

I have never met a person who have bought
And picked daisies over roses without a second thought.
Because who with a stable state of mind would like a dull flower—
So plain, so lifeless which doesn’t even possess power?
We all want something with a mind-blowing factor,
A thing an ordinary white flower can never give
That is why whenever we see it; we turn on our heels to live.

Dark, mysterious, sexy, and feminine—
It can captivate you and win,
That’s what roses are
It can enthrall you even for a short span of hour
So lovely, so strong, and beautiful
Far from a weak plant that is pitiful.
But beneath the roses’ beauty there are thorns
Wounding those who will mistreat them until they mourn.
Roses are those fighters that can subtly kill
While daisies are soft and fragile.

I’m afraid to say I’m a daisy—
Sensitive, klutzy, and a little ugly
Surrounded by aesthetic roses, unluckily.
No wonder, no one will ever pick me.
I watch how people are elated whenever they see those plants with red color
They are attracted to it, like a bee to a flower.
Envy grows in my heart, whenever I witness that scene—
It pierces my insecurity like a sharp pointed pin.

I loathe being old and common,
I want to escape this chain of being just an option—
Longing to be appreciated and loved,
To be desired as a lotto jackpot,
But one question is bothering my head
Vanishing my hopes, replaced by sorrow instead.
Who would pick me over pretty girls with sassiness?
Who would choose daisies over roses?

###

16th Road

Impassively, a girl in her turtle-like car is hitting the road
Already spotting the red sign signalling another thoroughfare,
Her pitchy hair is whipping past her face as the sun is blazing gold
When memories flooded her mind, both she can and can’t bear to remember.

Her reminiscence was a kaleidoscope
It’s a mixture of legion of different scenarios she has experienced
Some of those are poignant, few are considered as a coup;
The last two roads aren’t that well then, that’s what she has observed.

So she tardily hurried to reach the new drive with a red sign
The 16th road — new way, new beginning
And for her last moment on the 15th, she relished her time
She noticed the carriageway was blue but it ameliorated her upbringing.

Unaware, she’s now on the 16th and though baffled, she smiled from ear to ear
She’s so ecstatic, she’s so close to being the woman she wants to be
Because now her existence is on its 16th year
New beginning — her sweetest days are already in incipiency.

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Categories: Poetry

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