There are three kinds of people.
People who build a brick fort,
People who build a wooden cabin,
And people who build a glass building.
People who build a brick fort.
Strong and stern from the outside.
You think it will be cold and there will be nothing inside.
You need a special key to unlock the door,
Or they have to let you in.
But once you step in, it feels like home.
There is warmth.
There is love.
You feel safe and secured from the dangers outside the fort.
People who build a wooden cabin.
Solid, yet looks comfortable and homey.
There are small windows to peek inside.
There are front doors and back doors.
Sometimes, they share their keys with you if they want to let you in.
Once you step in, it feels familiar.
Everything is as you would expect from a wooden cabin.
There are little surprises here and there, like an early Christmas morning,
But no plot twists, no threats.
People who build a glass building.
Beautiful, open, and observable from the outside.
With exquisite and enticing display.
They lure you in with their openness.
Their sliding doors constantly opens and closes, easily giving you access in.
Once you step in, there are more doors, more displays, more mirrors.
You could only see reflections of yourself along with their display.
Like a store, as seasons change, the display changes.
You think you know them, but you don’t.
So…which one are you?
“Welcome to your first session. What has been bothering you lately?”
“What about them?”
“I don’t know,”
“Do you have some?”
“So why has it been bothering you?”
“Because I woke up after a long dream and realised that I know nothing,”
“What do I know? What do I not know?”
“And that has been bothering you?”
*shrugs* “I guess,”
“Have you talked it out?”
*shakes head* “I don’t know how,”
“How to talk to them,”
“Well first, what would you like to know?”
“If our laughs were real,”
“Maybe they were real at that time,”
“What else would you like to know?”
“Will we be able to laugh again in the future?”
“You will always be able to laugh with someone, anyone, even with another person, a better person,”
“What is the last thing that you would like to know?”
“What do they speak of me when I’m not listening?”
but the answer is only silence.
I feel my feet standing firmly against the ground,
but I feel like floating.
I can feel that I am home bound,
but I feel like fleeting.
As petals fly swiftly between my fingertips,
a bud landed on my palms.
A sweet, fragile bud.
A colour of a shy blush,
with the gentleness of a mother,
and softness of a lady.
As I cup my hands around it, protecting it,
the bud was shriveling.
Unstable, but this bud kept me on my ground.
And the stronger I protect it,
the stronger the bud is,
the stronger I stand.
my little mademoiselle.
Who flies like a fairy,
who leaps like a gazelle.
Soaring innocence, so pure.
boasting elegance, so mature.
Springing gently on your feet,
going up for the next suite.
Though now, she is a mademoiselle no more.
She is the majesty, the royal honour.
Forgive me, your honour, am I not worthy for your time?
You think that you are sitting on a gold throne,
but you are sitting on your tombstone.
Look at you, thinking that you’re surrounded by sandstones,
when those walls around you are made from bones.
You left your home for a castle,
but you are in a shambles.
In your world, you’re a royal highness,
but the real world knows you’re a royal mess.
You are the queen of your own world.
Oh honey, wake up and see.
You are no queen to me.
Hiding yourself in a castle for few,
no one really knows the real you.
Maybe that would be the best,
because the world will know you are truly messed.
Never an honest word,
do you think you will rule the world?
Let me rip that sweet veneer,
I know who you are, my dear.
Even if you say everyone is your family,
oh we know that’s a blasphemy.
You blame the world for its error,
when it’s clearly reflected in your mirror.
Once you go there was never, never an honest word.