some-random diarist

"Writing is a socially acceptable
form of schizophrenia.”

Hello, I'm Gixx and this
my very personal journal.


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Prodigal
Monday, March 28, 2011

+

I lived with coffee and tea
While they drank rust
From the wretched pipes
And planted rice for my kitchen

These men, their souls
Poisoned from tarnish, cracked their backs
Wrinkled their palms and foreheads
Drowned in their sweat from exertion

This struggle that humbled me
I looked at my cars, I remember their plows
Crumbs for their breakfast and feast for my dinner
They, almost bare, while I fancy my closet

Bleeding from the harshness of our inequities
I fought with them, for them
Envisioned to a cause greater than my life
Far from these material hang-ups and consummation

For their wars are far more worthy than my battles
Only selflessness and altruism
Lead me treading the streets while I burn my skin
I cried with them, for them

The road less traveled is a cliché
but once, I found it’s more dignified
noble and highly priced
I cannot look back again


*A poem made for my Creating Writing 100 workshop

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