Pelenaise 'Aliki
Poet · Nuku'alofa · Tonga
A poet who turns anger into poems i guess.
A writing journey
Well, to be frank, I started writing poems this year because a metaphor was repeating loudly in my head. I compared my self to a plant in a close jar and that imaginary thought always seemed to be clear when i was hurting due to problems at home, but even though it repeated in my head, i never head the energy to write it down until this year when I just couldn't let it repeat in my head, i had to let it out, and surprisingly, I created a beautiful poem that I really loved, because it felt like I was releasing something in me that had been urging to see the light of day hhh. After I wrote it, I typed into my PC, saved it in a word document and shared it privately with some of my facebook friends, and to my surprise, they Loved it too and it made me happy I got to share a bit of my voice with some of the outside world. Eventhough my poem was loved by people outside, it hurt someone i love and care about, because the poem was about our home, and it hurts to hear the painful truth of reality, but only to me and my house, we knew the cracks inside our walls. Though I shared a piece of my voice, the audience would not clearly see the true hidden meanings behind my poem, they loved it but it hurt some of the people who knew their roles in the poem. So i wrote my 2nd poem, two gardeners to make me feel better that the people would know that only one person was the one causing these pain and the other was also almost just like me, but it made it worse.......i then deleted the 2 poems i posted, and saved it anyway. I stopped sharing my poems as it exposed some of the truths inside my household causing us, and me more problems......i didnt give up on my writing then as i felt that i need to speak, and confront the truth but using poetry, so i wrote in my notebook secretly. I came here today looking for a place to share my voice through my poems also hoping that my poems could reach out to someone who's also struggling to shout out the truth and hold in their pain. My poems are one way of how I am healing my scars, scars that has been there for far too long, and I had to choose between using my anger to create something beautiful, or destroy someones life as they destroy mines, and I think you know which choice i made. I understand that alot of people have been hurt quietly and people can be struggling with problems they can't handle, and theres already enough problems and pain out there for me to destroy someones life as well. So yes, I chose to use the energy of my anger in my poetry......hopefully i can create more beautiful poems and inspire people and encourage them to not give up....I hope the person reading this is also going strong, and still believing that there is more beauty out there in life then the problems you're facing personally.....if that makes sense, i hope it does, thank you also for taking your time to read my story, I hope that your story has also been heard.
Published writing
Closed Jar
Hi, my name is little plant.
I live in a closed jar with little air holes,
and that is all I’ve ever known.
My Home.
Outside my jar,
I can see everything near and far.
Birds flying high,
trees reaching for the sky.
The sun is shining behind me,
as my shadow bursts in front of me.
I see my shadow grow bigger than the trees outside,
the light reflecting through my class, A rainbow.
My gardeners pour water in my jar,
They water me,
not to help me grow,
but to keep me contained.
My gardeners tell me, “GROW!”
but no,
the only thing that grows is my shadow,
but still, they keep my jar closed.
My gardeners afraid I might die outside,
were trees like me were meant to grow in the wild,
were animals, birds, bees, butterflies were to find shelter under my shadow.
They say they love me, they can’t let me out I might die.
My jar slowly becomes my prison,
as days go by and my life slowly fades,
and the space in the jar becomes too small for me to stay,
and the air holes are not enough for me to breathe any longer.
As the days pass by, my thoughts keep saying,
“Maybe they’ll let me out today!”
but no,
it was wrong of me to say.
My shadow doesn’t look like me no more,
it’s bent and lifeless,
but still my heart believes I’m still as big,
as the shadow the sun once showed me.
My shadow boils with rage, twisted and piercing;
it no longer whispers hope.
It reminds me of what I'll never touch
and poisons me from within the glass.
As the sun shines on me once more,
the light beams through my glass,
shows me the rainbow I once knew long before.
My hope.
My jar still closed,
trees outside reaching for the sun,
my fading shadow,
My gardeners still won’t let me out.
Not today, nor tomorrow.
The jarred plants beside me,
are being let out for the world to see,
but, my jar is still tight and closed.
still watered by my gardeners.
The gardeners don’t see,
that what I don’t need is more water,
but more space to be free,
outside the jar and out there with the rest of the trees.
I wanted to be as big as the shadow I used to see,
but what do I know,
I’m just a plant in a closed jar,
with two gardeners who watered me since I was little.
If it wasn’t for them,
they said,
I wouldn’t have lived to see,
The beautiful things outside my closed jar.
The Gardeners
Two gardeners, one house
What can go wrong,
Not much, i doubt
Two gardeners one house
Two gardeners, different beliefs
One in freedom, one in control
Both live in the same house,
Two gardeners, different beliefs.
Two gardeners, many plants,
Some in the backyard, some in jars
Backyard plants bloom, jarred plants die.
Two gardeners, many plants.
Two gardeners, two personalities
One who loves and one who possesses,
The one who possesses is in control,
Two gardeners, two personalities.
Two gardeners, different strengths,
The “stubborn” one is stronger,
Then the silent one that loves,
Two gardeners, different strengths.
Two gardeners, two techniques,
One to let the plants grow,
One to see the plants with jars closed,
Two gardeners, two techniques.
Two gardeners, a hidden pain,
One built with love, one who was forsaken,
Together they'll remain unhealed,
Two gardeners, a hidden pain.
Two gardeners, confused plants,
a beautiful garden with dry soil,
dying plants, hardworking gardeners,
Two gardeners, confused plants.
Two gardeners, broken pieces,
a beautiful home created by discordant gardeners,
But how long will it last,
Two gardeners, broken pieces.
Two gardeners, different love,
one love breathes, one love suffocates,
one who nurtures and one who holds a tight grip,
Two gardeners, different love.
Two gardeners, one truth,
the plants are dying, gardeners are trying,
a home beautiful to the eye, but everything crumbles on the inside,
Two gardeners, one truth.
Two gardeners trying to heal,
their plants growing still,
A home where broken hearts can finally reveal,
the faith they lost, the love they hope to feel,
Two gardeners trying to heal.
Two gardeners, one house,
broken pieces and mending hearts,
slow growing plants, and tight closed jars,
Two gardeners, one house.
Burning House
How do I survive?
This burning house?
This growing fire,
has been burning for years,
Why am I still alive?
This burning house won't set me free,
It follows me wherever I go,
I can't call it my home.
People walking pass this burning house,
Unnoticing the raging fire.
Screams are heard from the burning house,
But a mere silent cry it is to the passer's by.
A whisper of pain and grief in the wind,
The burning house still stands,
Looking pretty but chaotic it is.
How do I escape?
This place I can't call home,
This burning house,
With illusioned walls,
My imagination,
my only safe place.
Smile
Shake it off and smile, they said.
How easy they think it would be—
to just smile.
It’s up to you to make the change,
break the cycle,
be the change.
Well how can I?
When my roots are poisoned,
no antidote can cure this disease.
This world is filled with hypocrisy!
If only you listened.
If only you followed your heart.
If only you followed the rules.
If only you used common sense.
Well how can I,
when you keep changing your mind?
Even when I choose what I think is right,
you’ll always find a way to blame it on me.
I guess it will always be my fault.
I would and will always be the black sheep,
the one who makes so many mistakes.
Since the day I was born,
I was the mistake.
You try to make me smile now—
and I will.
I’ll smile for you to feel good.
I’ll smile for you to be satisfied.
I’ll smile for you to be happy.
But the truth that I know:
my smile is the mask you want me to wear.
Preach to me.
Teach me.
Keep me “under control.”
Tell me to fix me,
when I’m not the one breaking me.
Tell me you’re sorry.
Tell me it was a joke.
That won’t sink no more.
Your actions shout louder than your sorries:
“You are the problem.”
I’ll admit I might be complaining,
but I’m done with your manipulation.
Telling me not to question your role—
but what about my role?
Just smile?
Come wear my shoes.
Let me see you smile in them.
Let’s see who’s been smiling
the smilest smile.
The Lion and the Hare
In this wild jungle, we live our life,
Where the predators hunt and sharpen their knife,
While the prey must hide in fear each day,
Afraid of the traps that awaits their way.
In this dream of peace and togetherness,
The hare is told to forgive, no less,
The lion that hungers to kill all day,
So that the jungle could thrive in a brighter way.
This perfect dream this hare would love to see,
But reality is cruel, knowing that it can never truly be,
For the lion only sleeps and listens,
Waiting for the right time to strike,
when trust blinds the truth from the eyes of the prey.
I, the hare has learnt, for my scars are deep,
and the lion’s promises it cannot keep,
It quietly and mockingly waits to bite,
to end the game and end this life,
and there I let out a silent cry.
To make amends with a lion is a fool’s play,
A dream for those who has not been a prey,
This hare is awake, alert and aware,
that this jungle is a place full of war,
with lying predators and prey’s who fear.
Forgive the lions, I can do, for biting’s their nature,
But don’t be fooled,
by the false new future they promise you,
I'll forgive and let go,
But to live is to learn what predators do.
This Zootopia that we dream about,
Can only exist if we all work it out,
If lions stop hunting, and hares stop fearing,
If life in this jungle would be lived sincere.
For some of us yearn not just to survive,
But to live in peace, and to truly thrive,
In this dream of togetherness we stand,
Zootopia is born, the promised land.