it took me a long time to realize that the
deep
dark
feeling of homesickness would not fade
with a simple location,
or even a pair of warm arms
to pull me closer at night
or evena fulfillment
of a dream close to my heart
because the home i'm looking for
is not so easily achieved.
it is not a place
or a person,
but an ideology;
the feeling of
wanderlust
homesickness
hope for a new future
in all us humans on earth is that of
peace.
subconsciously or not, we are all searching
for the day that
we may live together without
prejudice
intolerance
hatred
belligerence
conflict.
we are searching for a breath of fresh air.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
I sat next to a boy with the prettiest hands on the bus; I
was too scared to look him in the eye. They reminded me of
yours, thin and pale and with veins laced through them of
the palest lilac. I sat across from a woman on the train
today and her eyes were the most captivating thing I'd ever
seen, a sparkling amber that caught gold in the light. But
it wasn't until I followed her off onto the platform and saw
the stretch marks, like bolts of lightning, like cravasses in
a cliffside, the same stretch marks that you hate so much on
your own skin, the ones i trace with the tips of my fingers
as we attempt to inhale each other, between her shirt hem
and pants' waistline, that I realized just how much she
looked like you. I see you everywhere, and in everyone.
One shade of your eyes glinting in a passing subject sends me
into crippling nostalgia for the wet sparkling I saw when you
told me how beautiful I was for the last time. I never took
that chance to tell you just how beautiful your hands, your
eyes, your flaws are. I can't believe I never took the chance
to let you know just how beautiful I find you, because I
have a fear I never will.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
MY MIND IS RESTLESS I'VE USED UP EVERY OUTLET (my pens are running out of ink my notebooks are filled up my friends are all asleep and either way they refuse to listen) IT'S GETTING BAD AGAIN CAN YOU HEAR ME THROUGH THIS PRISON I'M TRAPPED INSIDE A BOX NO ONE BUT ME CAN SEE THERE IS NO SUNLIGHT I CANNOT SEE BUT THEY CANNOT PERCEIVE SO WHO IS THE ONE MORE BLIND I'M DRAWING BLOOD WHEN I WAS ASSIGNED ROSE BLOSSOMS I'M SURE THEY CAN BOTH BE TREATED THE SAME I SUPPOSE THEY'RE BOTH THE SIGN OF NEW LIFE (my mind is gone how can that make sense i cannot see they cannot perceive) I AM LOST IN A MAZE ONLY I CAN SEE ALL THEY PERCEIVE IS A MADWOMAN/YOUNG LADY/JUST A CHILD ROAMING EVERYWHERE TRYING TO FIND ESCAPE (escape from what i cannot believe i need rescue and yet and yet) AND YET I DO NOT NEED RESCUE BECAUSE I CAN PERCEIVE WHEN THEY CANNOT I AM RUNNING OUT OF BLOODINKNOTEBOOKPAPERFRIENDSTIME DO NOT TOUCH TOXIC IF INGESTED CONTACT YOUR LOCAL POISON CONTROL BECAUSE I WILL INFILTRATE YOUR BLOODSTREAM AND GOD KNOWS WHAT I'LL GET UP TO IN THERE YOU ARE JUST A LABYRINTH I'LL FIND MY WAY OUT EVENTUALLY HOW DID THIS BECOME A LOVEDEATHTRAGEDY POEM OR IS IT COMEDY I LAUGH IN THE FACE OF DEATHLOVETRAGEDY AND YET I AM SUCH SHOULD I LAUGH AT MYSELF OR DOES THAT MAKE ME MAD OR SIMPLY MADDER (or simply a comedy) EITHER WAY THEY'RE LOCKING ME UP AND THROWING AWAY THE KEY (god save us all the key to life is) WHICH IS SEEMINGLY A FIGMENT OF MY IMAGINATION GO HOME FOLKS NONE OF THIS IS REAL (or is it) SHUT UP (or is it) SHUT IT (OR IS IT WHICH IS REAL) and which isn't (WHO KNOWS ALL I KNOW IS I MUST LEAVE) I HAVE A LABYRINTH TO DECODE
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
let's go fishing
with each others
cans of worms,
trading off,
like a game,
explaining each
as they attract a bite;
let's see who wins first,
you challenged,
and i agreed.
my first catch:
my family's constant
biting at my heels,
insisting for the
"perfect"
version of myself
as I explain to them
"as soon as I reach Utopia,
it is no longer Utopia."
yours:
the demon eating away
at your lungs and
esophagus
shaped like burning tobacco
in a cylindrical prison;
you cough up burnt bills,
bank accounts, family pictures
(your future ones) in pain.
mine:
a gnawing in my stomach,
constant and demanding,
and addiction to be craved
by shaking fingers
scratching backs of throats,
tinged fiery,
tinged fatally;
black spots in peripheral.
yours:
tiny teeth up and down
your arms and legs
eyes to the brain
head to the sky
thoughts to the blank spots
of the universe
your addiction that curses mine
and maintains better.
mine:
eyes dull
mind dull
hands dull
feet dull
mouth dull
life dull
i've stared at you blankly for months
and all you can do is stare blankly back
yours:/mine:
a monster is tearing you up inside
the dullness is fighting
but so is the fire
we mingle
we dance
we tumble into the fishing pond
and drown?
we could not breathe above
yet we cannot breath below
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
Feel the hush of my movements
and the scream of my stillness,
I cannot remain motionless
or I will drive myself insane
I would rather drive myself
off the edge of the cliffs
down the street from my house
where the sun reflects off
their orange-red craters
before shining like crystals
in the crevasses of the water
I would rather drown than
spend one more day
watching the walls peel paint
I would rather the steering wheel
crush my lungs under my rib cage
than let my feet rest in these shoes
without lifting off this pavement
in a sprint that hurts my lungs
more than metal and pressure
I would rather crack my head open
and let my gray matter heat in the sun
than let my mind turn to mush
thinking of the same things
over and over again in this dull -
possibly fantastic -
life.
Because I could be doing things
that can make a person think
I could be doing things
that can change a perspective
I could be influencing a whole culture
but I'm stuck between four walls
that are going to crush me
before I can even crush myself;
I can already feel my throat filling
with salty water and sand,
I can already feel my lungs deflating
and screaming under the weight of gravity,
I can already feel my brain cooking
void of any thoughts that may have existed before.
I would rather orchestrate my own demise
than watch my stationary position
do it for me.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Leaning how to breathe
while still three thousand leagues under
the sea is a skill
I've learned is useful when you
need the air to say "I'm fine."
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
you used to make me feel like i was in flight;
above the clouds, with the breeze in my hair,
and no one around so i could actually be myself for once
nowadays, when i see you,
it make me feel like i’ve fallen down a flight of stairs;
all tangled up inside
and broken in all the wrong places
sometimes, i wish i could forget you
but then i remember i’ve avoided a lot of train wrecks
because of our atom bomb
we were the first of mine, you know,
the first to make me commit as big a mistake
as the ******* manhattan project
you ******* me up more than you can imagine
i lay waste for months, with no sign of human life,
or, life of my own, at least
i threw myself into the care of plants and cats
and writing love songs with terrible lyrics
telling tales of people who weren’t us;
of people who never fought.
of people would never leave the stove on
because something more exciting
was going on in life outside
i used to feel like i was always close to you,
to the world, to a bigger idea,
but now, when i think of you, i feel like
the bigger things are ominously closing in on me
closer, closer, too close, crushingly,
and you were always so physical
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
we used to sit
under the stars
at midnight
looking for the invisible connections
in the infinite tangle of points of light
you would draw little planets
and comets
and stars
on the back of my hands
and tell me the universe
was in my grasp
you always told me about
how your father
was an astronomer
and how he painted out the night sky
for you
on your bedroom ceiling
before vanishing into the world
without leaving a forwarding address
you’ve slept on the couch in the living room
ever since
that was eleven years ago
and the only way you can remember him
without your heart and mind
going into supernova
is through the stars
and even if your mother screams at you
to give up on him,
that the little illuminators
of the darkest part of natural life
have been dead
since before you were even a product
considered by any of the factors
on the whole earth
you still go to them
because they are the closest thing
you have to a mentor anymore
but they started to eat at you
and your state of mind
you lost borders
and crossed boundaries
some nights,
my face was darker
than the bits of sky
around the objects
i know
you loved more than me
you were never meant to lose so much
not with starry wonder eyes like yours
and a heart as big and warm and selfless as our Sun
it took a toll on all of us
when your mother chose to leave
instead of kicking you out like she said she would
she knew
no matter how you refused to sleep under your father’s handiwork
you couldn’t dare leave
the last thing
you were sure he touched
i think you touched everyone
with a bit of fire that day
anger and grief should never mix
they create combustion
much like that of hydrogen and helium
when set to a spark
i came away shedding skin
and sung
and smoking
i don’t know where you went after that day
you broke your promise with your father,
the one you never voiced aloud,
the one you never told him,
the one where you swore
you would never leave
but your house lies empty
and the constellations in your bedroom forgotten
by all except me
i still lie under the stars
-- this time in the center of the road
and this time past midnight --
and draw links between the constellations
which shine less and less bright
every night since your following
your icon into the dark
i still draw patterns
of moons and planets and asteroids
-- this time on my palms --
because i miss having the universe
in my hands
but when i look up
into the points of dead light
all i can feel anymore
is its vastness
and its oblivion
and its menacing gaze back into me
and it reminds me unfailingly of you
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
You don't think I understand.
That was the last thing you said to me before I found out you had taken the easy route, the one where the only ticket available to purchase is a stomach full of sleeping pills.
I tried so ******* hard to understand after that, because that was the only note you thought to leave me. Whether on purpose or by accident, I took it more to heart than your absence, anyway.
You never really left. You hid behind my ear and over my shoulder so for a long time, before I got used to seeing your reflection behind me in the bathroom mirror like in a cheesy horror flick, I was constantly dizzy because of all the whirling around. A mixture of fear and excitement, tasting something like stomach bile and the lemons that were on your breath no matter what the time of day, would prepare me to meet you, or rather the lack of you. If the acidic solution wasn't used up on a kiss to your cold and rotting lips, it burned a hole at the base of my stomach that grew into a volcanic crater.
Maybe that was why I erupted so many times that autumn, my mouth burning and smoking before blowing bits of my top into the atmosphere. I lost so much of me in those natural disaster moments. I lost my mind with my temper and raved too often to be trusted. I was called a lunatic because I saw you outside of the photos and family videos your mother showed me after your disappearance.
She was the only one who didn't avoid me; quite the opposite. She clung to me because I was the last physical link to you, no matter how dishonest that connection was. I was as lonely as she.
Slowly, though, slowly, I forgot to look for you in the shadows and behind ocean waves, and I forgot what you looked like breathing deeply in and out with your limbs sprawled out and occupying my entire bed, and I forgot how you licked your lips before pressing them to mine, every time. I couldn't find you anymore except for in the memories haunting the flowers you gave me on our first dinner date, the one I asked you to, pressed between the pages of the one book we agreed would be our favorite, or in the quickly-fading scent you left in all the sweaters your mother dumped on me the moment she moved to Thailand after her messy divorce.
But I can't say I don't want to lose you; I don't have anything left of yours to lose. I lost you long before your accidental suicide note. I lost you when the plants littering your apartment, the ones I gifted you, started wilting because you lost interest in other things' lives trying desperately to find purpose in your own. I lost you when you traded your guitar in for an attempt to find sanity and when you broke every one of your CD's, your most prized possessions, one night in a fit of rage against unfairness and bad luck and life in the universe.
Most of all, though, I lost you completely when you ripped up the Polaroid exposures you had taken of me one night when we finally believed that love was real, and that we were in it. When I asked you why, you only suggested I leave.
That was the night you told me I didn't understand, and I'm only just started to realize that you were right, and that I will never understand. I will never understand your cryptic, poetic responses. They're romantic as heck sometimes, but other times, all I want is a straight answer. I hate the way you would save pictures of me sneezing, or talking, or doing something ugly and dumb. You may have told me I was beautiful doing those things, but lying does not make me love you more. I was far too gone for that. I hated your slow and rolling hips, your lazy grace, all the things that a romance novel might describe as **** and utterly perfect, but when we were in a hurry, they were so inconvenient.
I could feel bad about saying these behind your back, but when I say I cannot wait to forget you completely, it is only a little bit a lie. I've found it so much easier to write about someone you love, whether the unrequited type or the type so romantic your heart swells to a grapefruit size after he says yes and is so ******* romantic it stays that size for a year after, after they've died, only the feeling isn't euphoria anymore but that of suffocating as the heart presses against the throat and slowly drowns you.
These words stem from the extra heart parts I had to cut out to survive, and while I am left stoic-faced and cold, I can finally fly.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
I have not been honest with you and I think that it is about time that I am. Ever since I first saw you, across the park with both of our heads bent over some sort of controversial art, I have always thought you more mind than matter but contrary to my indecisive head you always put me before my words.
If you were still here listening to what I have to say I guarantee you would compliment more the effort I may or may not have put into my hair this morning than the effortlessness of the trash spewing from my lips.
I should have seen the danger of this after your constant affection of my ears and chest and toes - you adored every bit of my that you could see - but I was too caught up in you being caught up in my eyes that I could not see that you didn't like them for the shine but for the shade.
I think I finally started to understand when you painted pictures of me doing normal things - cooking, writing, smiling - but nothing natural, like sleeping - which I often and always mused about in prose about you, my dear - or just thinking. They must have been much too mundane.
Your sketches of clothes and trees and urban sprawl were impressive but lacked depth. It was as if you were unable to see past the surface like every lake you stood and stared at was covered in a silvery film you were unable to pierce, even in the most shallow places.
We were too unalike - I trained myself to see each person as a character with a blank slate for hair color and texture and the size of hands and feet, but you saw only freckles where they shouldn't have been and fingernails too long or too shorts and although you found it all beautiful, it took more than aesthetics to find a tell tale heart.
You lost mine beneath the lake waters.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC