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Best Poems Written by Thalia Huevos

Below are the all-time best Thalia Huevos poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Current Grand Fears

I pace back and forth
Mind and heart in an upbeat 
Head on I tell them 
We chased our dreams and worries
Together we held our hands
We are brave and smart and young
Another  first day of school

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I, a Grown Up

This is me grown up
How hard could that be? 
This is me 18 years later
Aren't I supposed to be free? 

This is me grown up
Is this not how you raised me? 
A character, an independent 
Is it too much? I'm sorry 

This is me grown up
Still doing things you would want me to 
Should I stop now? 
I don't think you'd ever want me to

This is me grown up 
Distorted and confused 
But you never know that 
I intend you'd never have to 

This is me grown up 
Life beating me up 
Sometimes you help me,  sometimes you don't
Maybe sometimes you should stop

This is me grown up 
Now built in with imperfections 
Do you still see your child? 
I wish you'd try to read my emotions 

This is me grown up
Not getting any younger 
But I feel you want me acting older
I hope you do not forget you've raised an actor

t. h.

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An Elegy of the Living

I wish death would befall me 
And struck me just as fast
As I have lost all my beauty
All my marvels, all the past

When tame was the world I lived in
And straight the road I walked
When no chances were not taken
And I knew then how to talk

But today darkness would come easy
If it'd just sweep me off the ground
And take me to places quite weary
Anywhere else but this town

For I am tired of being happy
I am tired of saying fine
I am counting the days I'll be set free
Then on my wrist three perfect lines

t.h.

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When Among Them

Why is it so hard to be around people? I mean, maybe it's unfair that I should talk of the general public based on my experience of the persons that surround me and I have encountered but most of the time it's never a pleasant experience to be with them. You either detest them or tolerate them, and so rarely do you find ones you can live with. Even the ones you are stuck into eternity with, the ones whose blood you share, you hate them more than you did then as you grow up, especially when you start seeing the world away from their glasses and you start hearing things in your own tune and you understand that life's not a collection of their opinion of right and moral things but of lies and lies and perceptive truths. And, everyday you have to deal with people, pretend to like them (tolerate) and agree with them and force yourself to like them at times until you start hating them because the very acts you do around them now frustrates you. 
And I believe it would be less painful if nobody talked at all but  the problem is not the lack of silence, instead the abuse of it; when you know that their insides are full of charms against your being and they supress it and kill you with the degradation of words. It is so cruel of them to fill the air with nothing, no sound, no writings, it makes them much more cruel than the fools who announce their every heartbeat. To me it doesn't make them no different, it does not make them any smarter but yet another class of fool. 

There are people who would recognize your potential, celebrate your potential, fear your potential, and ignore your potential. They are your critics, but never the masters. They are your mentors but never protectors. They are your friends but the harsh truth is they can never be your allies. The world is a survival; the wise,  the risk-taker,  and the fool of many-a-great things will rise. They will recognize the many things you will do but most of them will compare it to what they cannot and have not done, that is your burden for it is your mistake to them as they think. Some of the greater fools may hate it, hate to be human and weak and tempted,  forgive them and do not let them go,  be weak along them, be their protector when fire requires killing. And, when people have grounded a perception of you in their minds, take the role and play it. They will hunt you anytime you try to be anything else, the masters will think they are threatened. It is an insult to play the weak and inferior, but they are the ones least seen, they can slip in the shadows and steal and kill. No one is forever strong, and so,  no one is forever weak.

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Car Ride

Like camera lights
Relentlessly hits my eyes
The sun almighty

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Friendships and Chatgroups

It will all soon be over
Your great conversations
The exchange of good mornings
And good nights

The next month you'd be pretending 
Wearing polite smiles
And in your head, you'd play memories
But you have nothing against time

No power against the future
No chance against yourselves 
Moreover that our generation's 
Been groomed to outlive itself

There'd be too much schoolwork 
And not enough fun
There'd be be a new group to talk with 
And your words will be forgotten but not gone

And yet you still continue 
As if your life together goes on
As if you'd all walk together in the same room
And not as changed individuals 

Strange is a friendship 
Brought by chances
By struggles
by grief

And if it the bond withstands
Time and ambitions
How stranger modern friendships
Would be?


t. h.

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To Our Winged Admirals

Oh, smile you devious angels, smile
Smile like the devil never touched your sins
Wash your guilt and pleasures with
Your name, your brand, your kin
Cross your arms and squint your eyes
Look down upon your sheeps
Count our hairs and sins and lies
Immortalize your perfected grins
Oh, bash our hearts and judge our heads
We see you smartling, dear 
We see you so beautiful, refined and skilled
Who dare amount to what you are?
Not us insipid mortal things
Look down on us you plastic angel fyres
Go ahead, call me your many things
For I am "not" afraid after all
Of being hailed, crowned- a darkling

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The Invention of Masterpieces

Anger inspires the heart
To create the words of the world

Which is then a burden 
Which is then a curse

And then so is threatened 
And then so is kept 

Far from those who will be converted 
From those easily changed

Far from eyes who will tell the mind
That'll then create the text of the broken

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Metaphor Contraptions

And the greatest poems were made
By hearts so tired and blue
To catch a name
From smiles so bright and true

Words from hollowed pieces
Are weaved to fit in
To create bridges
Between the heart and death's curtain

Emotions penned deeply
On parchments and skin
Veering away finally
From minds struck with pins

Someday these words may 
Turn into eternal hymns
That though peril come its way
It'll grant us dreams

t.h.

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How a World Is Recorded

At times when I'd go crazy,  I would write about things. I would carefully and bluntly describe the world through my mad eyes. Then when the craze subsides,  when my mind's at a normal pace I read those words again and again and again. When you've read it enough times,  it stops making sense. Then,  maybe I can forget hate and see myself through the lines.