i could be a garden, i think. i am overgrown; i am filled with green grass and trees and crawling with bugs and life. my heart causes the flowers to bloom and my lungs cast cool breezes or gusts of winds. the weather is up to my brain: some days could be thunderous and full of grey clouds, while others are colorful and warm.
people occupy the spaces inside of me. some run about, plucking tiny daisies from the ground, desperate to take home some of the beauty. i offer all i can, for i am desperate for company. but no one wishes to live inside a garden, they only wish to visit.
your visit was brief. you came at the end of summer. at first, i was blooming and beautiful. the sun was shining; the flowers were colorful. i was green with blue skies, and when the sun went down, i was painted orange and pink. sure, there were pesky mosquitos and rainy days, but the world was lovely and bright.
but then winter came.
the sky turned grey and all the pink petals fell. you walked through the grass, looked at the cloudy skies above you, and knew it was time to leave. you wouldn’t stay for long. who would? i turn cold and empty. nothing can survive inside of me.
besides, a storm was coming. you knew it was going to rain, and i wasn’t the beautiful garden you thought i was. i had nothing more to offer you.
i longed for the ability to let the sun shine down on you; i wished i could cast aside the clouds, turn off the thunder that was roaring. but summer had ended and my brain could no longer bring such warm thoughts.
the raindrops fell and as soon as you felt the drips on your shoulder, you left.
yes, i could be a garden. i am full of rosebuds and seeds; i am full of beauty waiting to be uncovered after a storm.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 9:44 PM UTC
new day
new page,
fill in with color
make myself
a masterpiece
museums full
of pieces like me,
i'm trying to find
some originality
but there's
nothing
new
under the sun
perhaps in another universe
i'd be unique
those new eyes would
find something beautiful
in me
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
for years they have wandered,
they have tip-toed through wonderlands and graveyards,
through cities and villages, through meadows and forests
you can tell from the scars that they were damaged,
that each terrain made a mark on their fragile skin
we spend an absurd amount of attention
on how those marks came to be; not enough
on the middle, who struggles to wash them off
no,
i will not tell you how
they felt as a tiny speck of pink dust
being brought into this enormous universe;
but i can repeat the story of their
breeze of a birth, a breath of fresh air
i will not tell you how
they felt changing addresses;
but i can repeat the story of how
their family packed their bags
and moved two blocks away,
leaving their father to grow
a collection of empty bottles
in his empty apartment
however,
i will tell you of the time
they found a constant star
in their ever-changing sky;
it burned them with each touch,
but they kept coming back,
intoxicated by the light
this star burned too bright for
our flickering lightbulb of a hero
i will tell you of the time
they changed zip codes, twice
in the span of eight months;
lost everything except for
dusty yearbooks,
hidden scars,
and a broken body.
each land pushed our hero
into infectious isolation
our hero began to grow in,
but they wanted to grow out
i will tell you of the time
they stared into another person's eyes;
felt caterpillars crawling
in their stomach,
unsure if they would grow
into moths or butterflies
but these caterpillars
never wove a cocoon
and our hero was left with
wriggling worms in their stomach
i will not tell you of the past
if it does not affect the present.
old scars are no concern;
they are only reminders that
the past was real
this life they lead
is something in-between;
between firsts and lasts
between new scars and old
between beginnings and endings
this origin story is being rewritten.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
i am made from sand;
thousand of tiny specks
melted together to make
a complete piece
but
someone sifted the sand before
making me
pieces of me were lost
i am lost at sea,
fragments of my identity
flowing in the waves
i am trying to drown myself,
swallowing salt water to fill my stomach
searching for something to make me whole
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
ribs shattering,
i can feel the cage
opening, letting loose
the butterflies that were
trapped inside
there was once a garden
in my chest, yes,
lungs with
lovely lilies
and lavender
laid around but
you knew of the garden,
you could smell roses on my breath
you could hear the butterfly's wings
you tore the beauty out of me
there will be no beauty six feet above me,
there will be no love from you
for you want all the flowers for yourself
do i not deserve pretty things?
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
staring at you,
i can see that
eyes are not the window to the soul
if so, your curtains are shut
a peeping tom can't see you
exposed, vulnerable,
a bare soul is about as naked as we get
i see,
love and hope,
i see,
fear and anxiety,
i see,
pieces of me
and then i realize:
eyes are mirrors
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
your fingers,
my heart
pounds
chest closing,
skin tightens
eyes close,
i see
you,
no
not you -
the one
the one with the thorns
for hair and claws for nails,
the one
who kissed me
and stole my soul
the one who
tore me apart
and left me
to piece myself
back together
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
yesterday,
i was the one
with firefly's wings
caught in their chest;
i was the sun
trying to shine
through opaque skin
and clouded smiles
tomorrow,
i'll be the one
with a smile
sickly sweet
it'll cause a
stomach ache;
i'll be the sun
so bright, it will
burn your skin
but today,
i am something
in between
today,
i am the sun
peeking through
rain clouds;
i am a chrysalis
hoping to turn into
something beautiful
today, i am me.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
i. i wonder if the stars fight over who's the brightest.
the night sky is a canvas, covered in a million strokes. each shining star in this endless sky holds its own beauty in the masterpiece above us, thousands of miles away. without a single star, the constellations would not be the same shape. without a single star, the sky would not shine as bright.
dear, you are a star. you and i, we fit in this universe, shining brightly for all to see. even though we flicker at times, even though our light may become covered by clouds, we are still bright. we still add our own light to the night sky. without us, there would be no masterpiece. without us, the world would not be as bright.
ii. i wonder if birds mimic melodies to harmonize with others.
not every song must be a duet - a solo love song can be riveting, can be like an orchestra of sounds all encased in one single lover. the songbird can sing symphonies on its own, every note echoing throughout the forest finding its way into each animal's heart. music they whistle with honest notes are the songs that make a lover's heart soar.
dear, you are a songbird; you are a dove. every note you make with your voice is a song; every string of words you say are a poem. your song deserves to be heard, so make your voice louder, higher, stronger. do not hide behind the voice of others, for you are worth being heard.
iii. i wonder if roses grow thorns for a reason.
they say every rose has its thorn, but they forget to mention that roses don't ask to be touched. the thorns are its warning message: it will harm you if you grab it. it is as if they're building a weapon, rewriting their genetic code to avoid being bothered. a sign to tell us to not hurt beautiful things, for they are armed with knives and sharp thorns.
dear, you can't expect people to just admire your beauty. a dog can understand no, but boys are worse than a dogs. if you keep acting like a daisy, you will keep getting your roots torn out from the ground, and boys will rip off your petals to try to find out what's inside of you. arm yourself, my love. roses need thorns to survive.
“dear, you are a star, you are a bird, you are a rose,” i tell her. “but most importantly, you are you, and you are important.”
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
you keep tugging at my strings,
bending notes on my skin
whispering lullabies into my ears
my voice is out of tune,
i cannot harmonize with your
deep, kind voice for
mine is sharp and flat
i do not love as beautiful as you
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC