Caught in my own bell jar

Found a song last night called Don't Believe In Stars by some Trent Dabbs. Its background gives me an indescribable energy like some songs from my favourite band, The Naked and Famous. It's hard to find words for them, but some songs give me the illusion that this world is prettier than it seems.

When people tell me to love myself, I have no idea how. All I have is my gift with words, and in the past, all I knew to do when trying to find my self-worth was to write about how I view this world. It may not be easy to see what's beautiful about me, but honestly, sometimes I can't help but love the way this world looks through my eyes.

I love how I remember the smallest things, even though it may be torture when they come back in dreams. I love how I avoid the news because I am so scared of seeing something I've dreamt of. I love how I notice a broken signboard on the highway, seen from bus 88 when entering Punggol Road. I love the strange sad I feel when I see an old woman with her back hunched 40 degrees, and I love how I miss my grandma whenever I see the old woman from Food Junction.

I love how I'm never bind down by time, at the same time never losing my daily routine. When I was in sec 5 I didn't have a smartphone with an app to check what time my regular bus comes; I knew I will catch it whenever I saw this woman with long hair and always in a black skirt, who took the same bus as me every morning. I saw her again some time ago and never forgot how she was once part of my everyday.

I love how I see a leaf fall from a tree and think the world of it. I love how I mishear song lyrics and write an entire poem from that mistaken line. I love how the wind blew through my hair and I would think about it even 4 years later. I love when I catch a glimpse of a Grace calling the man in front of me and wondering who this woman could be and what bus is she on and where is she going.

I have a universe for a brain, I am suicidal, and the only way I knew how to show my love was to give whatever I had, including my anger. And there is nothing, nothing, nothing beautiful about me from the outside, but through my eyes this world is so dim yet that is what I find so pretty about it, and I love the magic of words yet I can never seem to find the right ones for it--and it's all okay because the world in my head is mine and mine alone, caught in a bell jar.