People are jealous:
  "You've written so much,
    your photos are countless.
You've published books
  and done so many shows..."

Fools. Morbid fools.
  All this art and literature
make up for my unfulfilled life.
  I've put my endless sufferings into words and images -
to lull the pain,
  to get somewhat distracted
from what I had to go through.

My poems are my pain killers.
  My photos are bandages on my wounds.


But people can't believe it 
  for I never complain -
a silent hero.

So I'm not going
   to explain myself any further.

And if you're still jealous
  I can wish you to have my ordeals,
although it is quite cruel -
  having them
you're highly unlikely to survive...


I'd like to be an unrealistically positive woman -
   nothing redundant:
     to marry the right man,
       to have four children,
         to buy property,
           to give my children education,
            to enjoy my grandchildren...

But no...
  I have a different mind,
a different mentality,
    a different fate...

So... just endless words and images -
  all things unreal -
until the end...





Feb.16, 2009