barebone and ********
we ride the bikes
on a windy night
no metal slate top
rest on our head
or rule our kind
barebone and ********
we ride the bikes
on a windy night
we own the roads
just as we dare
to own the world
barebone and ********
we ride the bikes
on a windy night
we sunbath under the
streetlights, our guide
as the city grinds
barebone and ********
we ride the bike
on a windy night
we pump our feet, swell
rolling uphills and-
down with the bills
barebone and ********
we ride the bikes
on a windy night
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC
Ghosts are walking today.
Last night, misty rain fell upon the town.
On top of already soaking wet yellow leaves
that was plastered flat layer by layer-
like a yellow brick road. I walked on-
after work because biking was not an option-
in the wet air upon the wet road.
Where the road shone slick black,
Under the orange streetlight-
beneath the fading twilight, into the night.
Ghosts are marching today.
They pushed and shoved between the thin veil,
in forms of wind shrouded with orange decaying leaves.
They left dust trails, sidewalk cyclones, and-
Played mischief upon innocent walkers.
They crowded around and laid in wait,
until in groups they swamped and swayed.
As they passed by the disarrays,
with their fuzzy hats, thick coats and flying scarves,
they clutched their coat, just a little bit tighter-
and that’s enough I’m sure, to make deads smile.
Ghosts are parading today.
There was a halo behind the blanketing grey clouds-
that allowed a trickle of lights like diamonds fell into my eyes
and just for a moment in the corner of my eyes I saw:
a long crowd reflected by the golden light,
parading down the street, not caring for passing cars.
They carried a banner high up to the sky
and I squinted my eyes for a better look,
twisted my head back to catch another glimpse,
but with a blink of eyes, they were gone-
like the misty rain that fell last night.
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
Having thin wrists
Ever so feminine,
sharp as knives,
slim as a needle.
I eat and eat and eat
But no fat ever gets stuck
on my thin wrists.
They stay thin in defiance.
A boy asked another boy
If he could break my thin wrists
He looks at it rationally-coldly.
It would just take a snap.
But my wrists made of bones
Composed of calcium,
Same component
As that boy’s wrist
To think, to phantom, to assume,
it would break so easily.
Takes my breath away
as I look at my thin wrists.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 9:19 PM UTC
Sun
Rains down.
On skin: black, white, yellow, and brown.
And all skins burn
Under the natural UV light.
Skin
Is something that is not so profound.
It exists in triangular lines of cells that are bound.
Mending and bending with tears and scars,
Over the muscles, tissues, and blood vessels alike.
Skin
Is something that is on the surface; mind you.
They tell you from the start that it’s the inside that counts,
With glitters and flowers and sticker stars,
That you are perfect no matter who you are.
Skin
Is the first thing pre-schoolers recognized.
One boy bluntly points out that this girl is
Dark and ***** different from the rest.
I grab the finger away from her eyes.
Skin
Is the first thing that teenagers find to name.
They call you ****** chinks, and a Terrorist.
They dress as you for Halloween in “good” jeers,
Never to understand the hurt behind and within.
Skin
Is the first thing that adults ask about.
They assume you are Chinese, Japanese, Aboriginal, Afri-
Firmly I interrupt to explain about ethnicity and nationality,
But they don’t care about who you are.
Skin
Is the first thing couples try to match.
Because people stare when black and white are holding hands.
Even I am guilty of such and curiously wish to ask,
How did they meet, fall in love and come about?
Skin
Is the first gossip in town.
It fills the news outlet with riots and protests,
With each claiming their right but backlash after backlash,
Just washes down the black mirror to static white.
Skin
Is the first thing I find myself noticing now.
In a fantastical resort in front of Dominican beach.
White privilege enjoys an all-around buffet while
Dark-toned staff work around the clock.
Knee deep in the surface skin.
People bury themselves in it and live.
But even insects and animals shed their skin.
So, why so much emphasis on the
Skin.
I ain’t saying that being White makes you racist or rich.
I ain’t saying that being a coloured minority makes you a victim.
It’s just something I have noticed;
A problem so thin but keen in everyday
Life.
Wishing
For equity, not equality
The needs exist. After all,
Bleach skin with white sunscreen
Is always guaranteed.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
17 students passed away
In Florida
2018 looked ever so bright
But now I fear
It's every month occasion now
Should I predict that next school shooting
Will come by sometimes next month too?
I live in Canada
So maybe it shouldn't be relevant to me
But I'm so tired of being silent
So tired of same thing happening on the news
I was afraid that people would say
"That it had nothing to do with you,
Why don't you focus on your own problem,
You're all talk; just writing a poem here that doesn't even rhyme
What more can you do beside just adding fuel to
already
lit
fire"
But I just have to point out the insanity
Because it seems like the most shooting are from
Students who were suffering too much
They couldn't seek help and instead turned to the guns
Where they sought horrid fantasy in torrents of reality
So, how can you give guns to the teachers
Who have once taught the same student?
Your telling the teacher
To shoot their own student
To protect other students.
How can you even consider such idea???
Did the world change so much that
Now teachers are also soldiers?
I was even more surprised that
Young adult and mentally ill
Could, could, could buy a gun
People aren't meant to ****** even in self defense
They get haunted by tragedy of their own choice
As flash of death and red goes in between their eyes
Despite living, they might as well have died
Nor do they need a gun in this peaceful age
Especially in a country where abundance of ideas,
Democracy and national pride is constantly praised
Thus why brew violence by providing the means?
So why are you not banning the guns dear oh politicians?
What is your reasoning behind the ratio of 70:30 vote?
Is it the money; how much are the gun company paying you?
What is going on in that White House that is no longer white?
OR is it truly for the freedom part of the constitution?
Even when people are dying?
Is having the right to own a gun, truly what it means to be free?
Doesn't our strength of choice at time like this...
Isn't that what freedom is about?
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
compelling law shall compel
crimes against humanity to cease
but those crimes i shall not list
continue to brew in the mist
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
hey
i'm sorry
i really don't do romance
i'm so tired of listening to
same ole story just in
different variation and tone
but they are playing the same chorus
ya get what i mean right?
why do romance
when you are one?
someone answer my question
why is there so many
poems, stories, songs
about romance they have fallen into
but never romance they are themselves?
and in the end regretting
the love they were in
but love is you and me
no give and take i don't see
just don't beat each other for it
no need to steal it, you simply can't
it's there when i am there
and not when i am not
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
the whole world used to be terra nullius
until humanity came along
they sticked their hand
claiming this is mine, mine, mine
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
when people says
you are annoying
they are looking down on you
thinking they are on the higher ground
you have 2 choices:
bring them down to your height
or raise them up to your level
as it matter which position
you see yourself in
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC
i hoped to be that light
that shined at night
the light that does not let nothingness consume
because the nature of the light was to be bright
i wished to be that lighthouse
that shone for abandon cause
much like the lost sailor drifting on top of bottomless sea
sailing through the storm that was like the slaughterhouse
i believed to be the shining knight
that had ability to judge and smite
that carried out justice and revolted against the cruel injustice
the world seemed so simple to write; how short was my insight
but somehow i have become the lost
searching for the heat, but i feel the frost
sometimes i was the night that would consume the light
feeling nothing than hurting seemed to be worth the cost
but oh what a false thought
for the light i lost and fought
was something that was dear to my very own heart
but i'm only left with the nostalgic afterthought
i see others' light
i wish i could have their might
different lights with different kinds showing erie sense of their life
i can see, feel, hear and taste their past, present and future flight
i tried to regain my light
not having my thoughts in a cockfight
but it's so hard to rekindle and protect the ashes of the dead light
it would be far easier to risk a poisonous rattlesnake's bite
but at twinkling of the twilight
for me, not all is a lost goodnight
i have friends and families that does not let me give up
and perhaps a moral compass that still keeps me upright
so i'm preparing my dead light
can once more be ignite
by a dry wind carrying a spark or a passing of the accidental wick
it will lit like a forest fire, spreading far and wide with upmost delight
so hold your light tight
most close to your heart fright
show the way for those who have lost their light and thus their sight
be the one to guide lost souls even with a tear drop of your moonlight
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC