The Invisible People

Always fear the people who are invisible 

because, with them, you'll never see it coming 

and you'll never know what hit you. 

 

April 6, 2014 11:32pm © Kayla Napua Kong

yet.

What is reality?
This is not reality
I am not these rags
I am not this humble dwelling made of wood that the termites have turned into brittle paper
I am not poor
I am not just a dying shell whose flesh is aging
I am not this person who people look down on
I am not nobody
I am not the unsuccessful, not trying, loser
I am not this nonliving being
I was not created to die
This is not reality
But neither is that.
That is dreams
That is all that I am
That is a bunch of things that hasn't happened yet
That is a bunch of things just waiting to come true
That is my purpose
That is my future
That is my fortune cookie
I have life inside me
It is invisible but it moves the physical
I am an invisible being
I am this living being!
I was not made to not live!
I was made to live!
What is reality?
This is not reality
--But neither is that
Reality is nothing
because it means nothing to me.
Reality is as non existent as the invisible of what is yet to come!

© Kayla Napua Kong slightly revised from the original written on my iPod's notes on October 22, 2011 Sat 11:19pm

The Invisible Tree

I feel like I am a tree rooted in my spot amidst the seasons; the seasons forever changing around me but I go nowhere. The same cycle, the same routine, with changes so little that they barely even matter. They come. They go. I go nowhere. I do nothing. But I am still a matter of time & time has a way of eating away at me. Though I have many years it takes them all away; it grabs and it grabs at my years which move slowly like a painful poison then speedily like it's running out. Through me I see everyone pass me by as I watch them--rooted in my spot--wise and old and grave--to know all the stories--to know all of everything--but, without a mouth, I have no say. I am rooted on a sturdy foundation; I cannot move; I cannot go anywhere... The wind blows upon me; it rustles me, it moves me yet, save some swaying, I remain here... Always & Alone... I have leaves but I cannot leave. I stand tall but, my leaves, they fall... I am a tree... What is my purpose? It must not be for me. *~_~)

Originally written in my iPod's notes on March 29, 2011 Tues 5am © Kayla Napua Kong