One.

Birth of a new life, a new beginning, which encompasses past lives of the spirits that now resides in this small body. On the first touch of the wind, you cough and cry - soaked in blood and the waters of life that nurtured you.

Five.

Running relentlessly across the street, you fell down on your feet, scraping skin as you crashed on the dirt beneath you. To dirt you shall return, but it doesn't count that you are equal to dirt regardless of the phase in life you live. But you are dirt. In the eyes of those who've seen you fall on your knees, you are dirt. In the thoughts of those who hate you, you are dirt. Even in the hearts of those who smile at you, who take you in their arms when you call out for help, you are dirt because you are a resposibility, a dependent, nothing but a burden in this youthful chapter in your life.

Ten.

You have grown. Your legs have grown. Your feet have grown. Your eyes have grown, but not your ability to see. You are fooled by the chocolate-coated lies around you. You are blinded by the fact that these people around you are the ones you can rely on. Five years had not made a difference. You are dirt. And soon, to dirt you shall return.

Fifteen.

Your eyes are clearer now. But now you can see the faults that had been done in the past. Now you understand how the people around you had used you, how they took advantage of your innocence to toy with you. Back then, you knew you've done something wrong, but you were unable to run away. Those who had borne you had not known. Those who had 'loved' you had not noticed. Only you, and the divine eyes in heaven had seen you fall.

But now, with your eyes wide open, you question: "Where were you when I was helplessly abused?"

Twenty

You seem stronger now. You look stronger now. Your experiences transformed you into a person you never thought you can be. But there remains the thick mass of clouds behind you -- dark clouds that constantly remind you of the past that cannot be undone. You consider yourself filth, darker and murkier than the muddy slob beneath your feet. But the clouds behind you became your fuel, your spirit, your desire to move on to a better life.


You are twenty. But you are still dirt. You strive to be someone you're not, and you think this is good; better than to simply be yourself. But you are still dirt. And whatever happens, whatever you do, your past has turned you into the filth that you hide beneath your happy mask. For you are dirt, and to dirt, you shall return.