Hidden
I see people who lie to themselves, the fabrication of ‘truth’ and the weaving of such ‘truths’ to others. In the end it is not the lies that are weaved in front of others but those that one do to him or herself. I see it reflected in people, in their eyes, language, posture and importantly their actions and words. They lie to themselves of the world they are in, the reality that they conveniently hid behind and friendships that are built upon gains and benefits or simply put survival.
Then there are people who are in pain, grief and sadness that drips from their clothes and drawings. Art is an expression of emotions. We reveal ourselves in our art, be it a poem, prose, painting or any other forms. In this capitalistic nation, we have chosen to hid those expressions away from the concrete jungles and masks. We see expression of emotions as a sign of weakness or even brutally said an opening for others to feast upon like vultures that circles in the deserts.Yet importantly these emotions are the ones that make us connect to people, it is the magical hand that reaches out to people’s heart, touch them and establish the primeval basics of human connection. Furthermore these buried emotions eat us within, like worms digging through our body carving holes, wounds that will slowly bring us down to break open.
I have to find it back
