Cup filled to the brim
with pungent liquid. Amber,
purple, clear: does it
matter? The clock is
ticking. The cup is not
the vessel which
breaks—
Crazy. Crazy, right? Maybe.
Beat the corpses, wait
for a pulse to remind you: Mother,
you’re not going crazy. You’re not.
The child only remembers
the muffled shouts.
She doesn’t understand,
but knows to
keep silent—
head down, knees up, clutching
the stuffed Piglet. Bedsheet covers,
rising and falling. Breathe in
and out. Doors slamming.
In and out.
Someone must’ve pressed
Repeat. Must’ve thought
those saliva-choked screams
were cathartic. O Mother,
multi-platinum artist, more
than a million plays. Hit repeat.
Hit. Repeat.
Emails in crevices, muses
in hidden texts. Father asks
that you seek for inspiration
elsewhere. Fame asks
to keep that reservoir
of pain. Dig your nails
into skin. It is yours.
The young woman is reminded
of the muffled shouts.
She does understand,
but knows to
keep silent—
head down, knees up, clutching
her stomach. Bedsheet covers,
rising and falling. Breathe in
and out. Doors slamming.
In and out.
Cup filled to the brim
with pungent liquid. Amber,
purple, clear: does it
matter? The clock is
ticking. The cup is not
the vessel which
breaks—
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
you're the silly lover
picking flowers for another,
don't you see the thorns that ***** you
when you love like no other?
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 8:29 AM UTC
Collapsing under its own gravity,
The sun dies a little every day.
Every morning is a reminder,
Of its resilience,
Every night a tale of its loss.
A star shines brightest,
The more closer to death it gets,
Every constellation is a reminder,
that art wears melancholy the best.
Leaning in for a kiss,
The moon creates ripples in the sea's heart
Always reaching out, but never touching,
Every full moon is a reminder,
That it's possible to find contentment
While still longing.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
who would have thought
that his smile
and soulful eyes
could bring Achilles
the mightiest of heroes
to his knees
certainly not Patroclus himself
for the sun does not know
that it shines so beautifully
it just does
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 2:13 AM UTC
multicolored lights flashing
slowly, slowly, slowly
smoke from cigarettes wafting
slowly, slowly, slowly
you take in the smells and sights
of the small room that you're in
it's a crap hole, you cannot lie
perhaps that is why you're drawn to it
how can such lovely sounds
come from such a humble place
a place that makes you stink of
smoke and alcohol, sadness and joy
I see their dark silhouettes against
the spotlights of the dim room
I see their fingers dancing across strings and keys
I see a single man keeping a heartbeat alive
he hits the drums and plays like
he's going to make the room fall apart
with a cacophony of loud crashes and
a choir of subtle tapping, all together
they play like they want the world to know
of the mess they hold within themselves
the mess that wants to create art for all
those who are willing to listen can hear it
not a single beat can ever be repeated the same way
not a single moment can ever be duplicated again
this is no song, this is no empty stream of notes and tones
this is a conversation between artists and dreamers
these are their hopes and wishes
these are their darkest secrets
things they will only ever share once
this is beauty and chaos as a whole
this is jazz
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
life is fleeting
one moment, you see her eyes
they are fighting to stay bright
and then she's whisked away
the pain consumes her body
she can no longer move
her eyes become dull and tired
but she has been trying
she tried until the very end
beautiful child
you were too wonderful
to remain in this world
that is why the heavens took you
that is what i want to believe
beautiful baby
you are a child of the stars
for you are radiant and ethereal
you will be missed
you will be remembered
this earth has been blessed by your presence
you made my life a happier one
the ground mourns without your weight on it
the sky cries without your happy grin
this world has become a more desolate place
we love you dearly, and i keep a part of you with me
and now that your pain has ended, sweet child
we hope you have finally found peace
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
i. he is a dancer,
he moves with such grace
he's spent his youth
dancing in front of mirrors,
he knows the way his body moves
as much as he is sure of himself
ii. he is starlight
he has seen the cosmos
and through his smile
he shares the wonders of the world
i could never see for myself
iii. he is a gentleman
he regards everyone sincerely
chivalrous in his beauty,
he walks with kindness
and acts with heart
iv. he is a storyteller
after his past of good and bad,
he is what he says
words stream from his mind
like rain drops on windows
he speaks with purpose
without ever intending to hurt anyone
but only wanting to love
v. he is my lionheart,
he braves the flashing lights
he does not mind being himself
raw and out in the open
he carries his books around
and can be silly without a care
vi. he is a wonder
shining among the chaos of his world,
and even king midas could not
conjure a heart as golden as his.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 11:01 PM UTC
you always say you were never good with words,
but it's your wide eyes
and strong hands, soft touch,
that speak to me in hushed tones
as for me, my heart goes wild
with mad love and adoration for you,
so much that when i try to speak
the words stumble and i am tongue tied
so it always ends with you
and me
and the quiet
and the way we both lack a way with words,
yet the comfortable silence we share
amplifies the light of love
bursting in our hearts
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
of all the lives i could have lived,
i am glad i happen
to be in the same lifetime as yours.
but again here comes the world,
with all its silly ironies—
its vastness that sets people apart
miles and miles;
our paths crossing
is quite out of the picture.
i know this.
you don't.
i think of you.
you don't.
but why do i keep waiting for you
as if i'd suddenly find you outside,
standing by my door
and waiting for me too?
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
this life tells me i have never known you before,
but your face is already an image i have seen,
your voice is a resounding song in my head,
your speech and your thoughts feel so familiar
as if i have already spent time talking to you
until the wee hours of the morning,
and our thoughts seem to connect and weave into fabric
as warm as the blankets that cover me at night.
it is strange, isn't it?
the way a stranger could feel so familiar?
i do not know why,
but i believe that we have met at some point in the past,
perhaps we already knew each other
when we were living previous lives
we cannot call ours at present.
but whether it is fate or coincidence,
i am glad our paths have crossed again.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC