Lost in Uncertainties

The boy in me never grew old. Peter Pan envied my strong bones, healthy shoulders and nice physique, yet the boy in me ceases to move on. He is still the shy, timid and unassuming poor little boy that he really was two decades ago.

This boy is the poorest in his own little world. He has poor eyesight, poor friends and spirit, and poor pocket. He danced and sung alone with his poor imaginary friends as his sole audience. His rich siblings and friends do not love him, as nobody loves poor in this rich-filled world. He won the best-actor-plum for crying endlessly at night, and drenching his poor fellow, a soft pillow, with tears full of hatred, self-pity and envy.

The boy has the emperor’s clothes and a quarter of Prince Charming’s charm yet the smart mirror sees nothing but an image of a poor boy - pitiful, sad, and angry. The costumes he wore is not enough to cloak the boy within. Others secretly wished they were on his shoes, admired him for his completeness, and would die just to sleep with him nonetheless the poor boy was completely unaware. He believed the attention and stares were to humiliate and disregard him, to uncloak him of his poor stature. His only wish is that one day he will live in his world where nobody seems to notice as he walks, no more smiles, head turns and secret stares, no memories to remind him of his poorness.

His neverland is a nightmare to somebody who said no man is an island. If only Peter Pan knew this, he would jump ectastically and thank God he wasn’t blessed with strong bones, healthy shoulders and nice pysique like mine.

No doubt, Peter Pan will live happily ever after since then.

[ Guess how many times "poor" appears and you'll know I'm serious on the poor thing ]

She’s strong because she drinks my milk every night. Her smooth skin and healthy bones are testaments of my milk. I am drain and lifeless because she had mine from the start. I never got the taste of my own harvest. Each nights are chapters full of supremacy, hatred and greed. She insisted, I refused. Good boys are really bad, and good girls ends up drinking all the milk they want. Supposedly, breast milk is best for babies. Yet last night unfolds unexpected chapter. I let her drink my milk wholeheartedly. She said it never tasted that good and wondered why. She still had the last drop and savor its sweetness and freshness. We lived happily ever after since then.

["I" is my past; "she" is a legend]