*Something i wrote when I was seventeen.
I am a vegan
Who feels sorry
For the suffering animals’ souls
I am a virgin
And yes I’m seventeen years old
But I feel
Like I’m one of those
Suffering animals’ souls
So I put up the walls firm and tall
This way, I can heal
From the wounds which cut me deeply
That I bleed
Every single night in my dreams
Where I see myself left
With only bones
Buried in the bottom of the dungeon
To which
I am confined
Yes, I’m seventeen years old
A vegan and a virgin
I can easily
Spit out these identities
But still feel baffled
Still, feel frazzled
why？
My parents asked me
They never fathom
Every day, I try
I think
It’s because every day I try
To be “something”
Be polite, be positive
Be generous, be happy, be a lady
Talk louder, be a boss, but not too bossy
Be indispensable, be in control
Make us proud
But remember
Be yourself
I am tired
Of this game that we call life
Playing by the rules
Written for someone else
With a knife on my throat
I toss the dice
And try to survive
But this game is not fair
Not from the very beginning
They say even though
Life itself is an empty existence
Aspire to fill it
With a sense of belonging
But hey
I did not consent
To playing this game
Yet here I am
Trying to makes sense
Of all that I have not signed up for
I am tired of this game
And if the game writers
Have mercy at all
They
Would just leave me alone
I can’t recognize myself anymore
Like the suffering
animals’ souls
I remember
When I was twelve
Standing next to a bookshelf in my room
With Anna Karenina in my hands
Telling dad that I hope to study literature
and philosophy in the future
He told me blatantly
That I couldn’t possibly
make a career out of it
he wanted me
to be more like him
a lawyer
or perhaps
a law professor
I remember in middle school
I wished I could be
More like my brother
Because apparently
He was a born winner
And was adored by every creature
I was not made for this game
And that wasn’t acceptable
For a kid in middle school
She just wanted to be normal
No one liked that girl
Who sat in her seat
Reading all day long
Lacked of human interaction
You see
I think the rules of this game
Is written for and written by
People like my brother
Over the years
I slaughtered myself
Changing the soul
Bit by bit
Compromising
To society norms
I don’t recognize myself anymore
Like the suffering
animals’ souls
and if the people in this game
have mercy at all
they
would spare me a round
and leave me alone
Butterfly Poetry 