sometimes i tend to think of possibilities.
possibilities of the future.
the vagueness of things,
which tarot cards might sometimes tell.
whats in store?
its like when we open up a fridge,
what goodies mum bought.
mostly cold junks.
i have to admit, it intimidates me.
how will my journey end.
how does it begin.
oh, it already did?
but what actually had been written for me.
i wonder.
life is like a mould.
the mould we try to turn into timeless sculpture.
we mold it with little tools.
often tools like our tongue,
we lie.
but life isn't only based on that.
isn't it?
we are the prototypes of the future.
we will be reinvent.
to something clueless.
its a vicious cycle.
maybe painting a picture might help.
frida kahlo amazed millions.
and made billions.
but she failed to amuse herself.
cause grieve weighs a tonne.
the irony of life.
its fascinating.
the society has their own sets of eyes.
like children,
they are often attracted to pretty things.
like colours,
a perky nose,
or jacked up bosoms.
its nature.
facades are facades.
there's a reason why the male peacock,
have such lavish feathers.
everyone, everything are judged.
so why stop now?
maybe the society says so.
maybe its true that good guys finish last.
i know its true that no one serves a cheese platter straight up.
get a cow,
touch its nipples,
milk it,
turn milk into cheese,
cut it into cubes,
poke it with toothpicks.
in another words,
work hard.
or fight for it.
but in a good way.
like how ghandi did.
let's travel through time shall we?