The way you make me feel
Our distance is Greek tragedy
You truly are the Ruler of Hell
And I am your Persephone

First time I heard you sing
And your voice blessed my ears
It's as if I was Eurydice
Hearing the Epics of sweat and tears

Letter by letter I spell it out
To me, you are all but perfection
You are to me as Narcissus is
To his very own reflection

Of every Mythology in the world
I fear of becoming one most of all
And that is of the arrogant son
That took the greatest fall

Each time he flapped his wings of wax
His ego and pride struck him down
Icarus flew too close to the sun
And soon was never to be found

Greek Myth holds many secrets
But some secrets I hold closer
I look at Sisyphus and only wonder
How he keeps his calmed composure--

Figure out how he rolled that boulder
Over and over again
His and the winged-boy's punishments
Are warnings of discontent

Spells are currently cast on us
Some would call it a honeymoon phase
But I know these warnings, we will heed
And find our way through life's maze

A lot is there for us to do
To figure out how to live
But for now it feels like fantasy
The future seems like a myth

Secret messages on parchment
Will be how I share my soul
Until I can whisper these words
Being with you is my end goal

My sister is not my sister,
but a stranger of same skin.

It seems that our relation
is all but running thin.



My brother is not my brother,
but a man of unalike mind.

And his warmth and embrace
are things I cannot find.



I do not know the people
society claims are close.

The people society claims
are meant to know me most.



I wish I knew these people
but it cannot be true.

Because, siblings, my life
must be done without you.

Fruit of the best kind,
Is all I want to give,
Hand-made, hand-cared, hand-picked,
For as long as I may live.

On today of all days
We celebrate you
A woman of gold
With a heart so true

Memories so dear to me
Simple at first glance
But those that I treasure
Are of when we dance

Together in the kitchen
Just us, and we twirl
The music so loud
We block out the world

So, while we sing
'Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen'
I want us to dance
Together again

Hate me,
All you like,
I'll laugh,
At your strike.

Hate me,
And you'll see,
That nothing good,
Comes of hating me.

Do it,
I dare you,
You wouldn't,
If you had a clue.

Hate me,
Just hate me,
Because I see,
I see the glee.

Her eyes stand out,
On a canvas full of ink,
The contrast between them,
"Nothing better," I think.

Her eyes reflect her heart,
And the liveliness of her soul.
She's like a problem, needing an answer,
And her eyes are the main goal.

Hey, Grandma,
I miss you,
Why did you have to leave me?
I barely knew you,
I barely understood your foreign tongue,
Why did you have to go?

I hide, you seek,
Up to ten, but count slow,
Promise not to peek,
Ready, set, go.

I feel so homesick,
Tears tracing my face,
I sit on my own,
In this new place.

We’ve been here so long,
Longer than a year,
But I miss my home,
Homesickness. My fear.

I miss all the people,
That I left behind,
In the first couple months,
Everything was fine.

We spoke all the time,
But now, barely at all,
Only ‘Sorry wrong person’,
And ‘Accidental call.’

I’m sorry that I left,
But I’m sorry to me,
For being locked up,
And throwing out the key.

I put this on myself,
I left those for which I care,
We’re no longer friends,
Why isn’t this fair?

Why am I so sad?
Why must I cry?
Why am I forced,
To tell them, Goodbye.

Why must a romantic be classified as hopeless
If there is one thing a romantic has
It is hope

Hope for a sunset stroll on a sandy shore
Hope for a candlelit dinner on a rooftop
Hope for a dance in the pouring rain

Hope for a day to live out the fantasies of books
Of movies
Of songs
Of stories they only know from fiction

A romantic is never hopeless
A romantic is the hopeful
The creative
The inspired

A romantic is the poet
The singer
The author

A romantic is never hopeless
Except in the eyes of a stone cold city of cemented skyscrapers
Stars gleam out of reach while hearts shatter
It is this age where romance lives less
And romantics love more the faces of fiction

Maybe it is not the romantic themself that is hopeless
Maybe it is the prospect of a perfect prince
The concept of creativity and cliche
Maybe it is the slim chances of fulfilment that make one hopeless

I guess what they say is true
I am hopeless

They say when sick in a moving vehicle,
it is best to watch the horizon as it comes in and out of focus.

Watch it as emotions well up to the point of sickness.
Just sit and watch as trees pass your peripheral.
Trying to conceal the sickness,
trying to not let it come up to the surface.
But it stays.
It brews and stirs.

The car rumbles on and
silence
screams louder than ever before.

Don’t disturb the silence.

That’s what she tells herself.

Don’t let your breaking breaths and
muffled cries
disturb the nature of the car.


Liquid daggers rain down from the windows.
You can no longer see her soul
as it has crumbled down to
the particle it started as.

Not a seed,
just a speck.

These daggers drop in

deathly,
dreary
silence,

they dance

down

until they reach a

dead-end.
Nowhere else to go,
only more drop.

The windows have been

cracked.

No amounts of duct tape
can fix this.


Nothing left to do except sit and watch the horizon.

How are you?
They ask.

Every day, at least twice,
Someone asks,
How are you?

But they really don't want to know,
What is the point,
Of asking,
If you're looking for a lie?

I'm great, how about you?
I'm as great,
As the Great Wall of China,
Broken,
Barely there.

I'm as great,
As the Great Barrier Reef,
Slowly dying inside,
Deep within me.

I'm as great as great can be,
How about you?

Eyes of a snake,
Slithering near,
Symbolizing terror,
Showcasing fear.

Sneaking quietly,
To unsuspecting mates,
Changing the course,
Of everyone's fates.

Firsthand experience,
For this sort of thing,
Comes with time,
And a heart on a string.

Holding your heart,
Away from you,
Protecting it from hurt,
Until you know what's true.

Hypocrisy strikes,
With an iron blade,
But the pain,
Will never fade.

It's not the concept,
Of hypocrisy alone,
But when someone uses it,
It rattles the bone.

Whether intentional,
Or just misunderstanding,
The darkness is left,
To continue expanding.

Eyes of a snake,
A crime to commit,
The story of,
A hypocrite.

I dream of a home,
I dream of a place,
A place of comfort,
A place of grace.

A safe haven,
One to share,
One I dream,
Is our secret lair.

I dream that we,
Can cut the sky,
To reveal a galaxy,
For you and I.

I dream that birds,
Lilt in the air,
When we surrender,
To our secret lair.

The white flag is raised,
But instead is a dove,
A token of surrender,
A token of love.

I dream for a happy place,
A place to call my own,
I dream of a place for us,
A place we can call home.

I hate her.
She is the bane of my existence.
She is everything wrong with the world.
She is the worst thing to grace the face of the earth.

One may think they are free from her grasp but she wraps her bony fingers around your neck as you beg for air.
You walk aimlessly in a labyrinth and she is a dead end at every exit.

She is what makes me tick, what makes me scowl, what makes me hate the world.
She reeks of hatred and smugness, she thinks she knows better but she is truly misguided.
She misguides me.
I am stuck in her labyrinth.
She tells me to go right but regardless of the path I take, I end up in the palm of her hand.

Her whispers haunt me.
Her laughs torment me.
Her thoughts become mine.

The purest of intentions turn to vile green sludge.
The kindest of hearts become the most doubting.
The loveliest of engagements shatter to pieces before her.

Jealousy.
I hate her.

A washed away pillar of salt and sediment.
Broken by the breaking waves that crash upon its side.
In and out and in again, moving with the tide.

I will live forever,
And not just in spirit,
In mind, body, and soul,
Death, I do not fear it.

Immortal, I am,
And will forever be,
For I don't fear The End,
The End fears me.

I recently had a conversation,
With a friend of mine,
And I’m not sure how it started,
But it led to a conversation,
About what life would be like,
If we were all the same.

There’d be no creativity,
Imagination,
Difference,
We’d be clones,
Still living in primate times.

But if you think about it,
It’s kind of what communism is,
A society where everyone is equal,
Where everyone is the same.

Imagine living like that,
Like you aren’t special,
When in reality,
You are.

You are unique,
You are different,
You are you,
And never stop.

If I say, "leave me alone,"
It means, "go away,"
Didn't you hear me?
What more am I to say?

I want to be alone,
I want to be in peace,
Don't wanna be asked if I'm ok,
'Cause in 5 seconds, my mood wouldn't cease.

If you can't read my expression,
I'm clearly not okay,
So, for now, give me space,
And we'll talk another day.

You know, every time they ask me
What are your life goals?
What are your ambitions?

I answer;

I'm not sure yet.

They ask me if I'm happy
If I know what I'm doing with my life

I answer;

I'm not sure yet.

They ask me if I've made up my mind
If I decided what shirt I'm going to wear
If I know what my lunch will be tomorrow

I answer;

I'm not sure yet.

See, I'm not sure of much right now.
And I don't want to be.

But I do know that I want to spend my time with you.

I want to see you achieve your goals
I want to cheer on your ambitions

I want to make you laugh and smile
With the cheesiest of jokes and impressions

I want to see you on a Sunday morning
Sitting silently on a sunlit seat
Singing to yourself in my oversized purple jumper

I want to dance with you in the kitchen
While the moonlight dances along with us
Spinning to our own tune

When it comes to life, I'm not sure yet.

But one thing I am sure of... is you.

[New Message]
It reads,
Great, more trouble,
All I need.

Opening the inbox,
What could it really be?
Please not another,
"PARIS, a sight to see!"

I have had enough of spam,
So, please be some news,
And not a "favourite show" quiz,
I'm not obliged to choose.

A message from my boss?
No, he's already out of town,
A notice from the tailor?
No, she can't've done the gown.

Well, what is it?
Why won't it load?
Is it a virus?
Or some kind of code?

Well, I give up,
That is it,
I'll check it later,
For now, I quit.

Show me an indicator,
Of what suggests a traitor,
I'll be an investigator,
For this perpetrator.

We have a common denominator,
I promise, it's for the greater,
Good, this will be a creator,
From this treacherous infiltrator.

Because sooner or later,
You'll have to cater,
The need of this gladiator,
So please, show me an indicator.

Innocence is a bird,
A free-flying fowl,
Free from worries and weight,
Free from the nights’ howl.

A bird of love and wellness,
A dove of utter flight,
A sparrow home at last,
An owl in the night.

A single speckled feather,
Dropping, graceful, to the land,
Lighter than the sunlight,
Warmer than the sand.

Innocence is a bird,
A creature of liberty,
Innocence is in us all,
A part free of hostility.

Is anybody there,
I whisper to my room,
Where I sit and wait,
For my lonely doom.

Is anybody there,
Please let there be,
I can't stay alone,
Please stay with me.

Is anybody there,
Because if you are,
I've been searching,
Long and far.

Is anybody there,
But there's no reply,
No one is here,
To watch me cry.

There is no one there,
Now I know,
No one is here,
To watch my show.

I sit in a school library,
Kids chatting endlessly,
Talking about a new fight,
Down the oval, a gory sight.

Singing joyfully their tunes,
A petrifying librarian looms,
Watching with her eagle eyes,
Smiling, thinking of the noises’ demise.

Playing their games on the screen,
Doing homework is just obscene,
Lunch is all for talk and play,
While work is for another day.

I sit in a school library,
Music blasting endlessly,
A loop of my favourite tracks,
Alone, children turn their backs.

My only company seems,
To be the boundless online streams,
And my hat, by my side,
Making friends, I’ve truly tried.

But writing for me, alone,
Seems to be my sacred home,
And chatting seems to be a waste,
As I sit, write, and hide my face.

I talk to myself,
Consistently I might add,
And I dunno about you,
But I’m the best friend I’ve ever had.

My conversations are good fun,
The best I’ve had all day,
And I know I’ll always be there,
When I have something to say.

I talk about my feelings,
And my thoughts out loud,
I’ll talk to myself in private,
Or even in a crowd.

I don’t know what it means,
If I’m lone or depressed,
If you have any idea,
Come and be my guest.

To all the people that talk to themselves,
I think it’s perfectly fine,
You can be your own best friend,
And I can be mine.

I grew up thinking that,
People couldn't make you feel anything,
It was all self inflicted,
All your train of thought,
And the way you saw it.

You can let it slide,
Like water off a ducks' back,
Or you can let it get to you,
Let it circle your mind,
Ruining your self-image.

But now I know that,
What people say, can hurt,
Not only emotionally,
But physically,
Especially when it's a loved one.

Someone close to me recently said,
That all I did was stay at home,
Sleep, and write poetry.

That's all my life really was,
Three things,
Three aspects of my personality,
And the only three.

Life isn't always going to be sunny,
There will be a few cloudy days,
A few storms that will eventually pass,
And a few barriers that need to be broken.

People can't make you feel something,
But they sure can influence it,
Not everyone would agree,
But isn't that what an opinion is?

I'm more than three things,
I am human,
I am important,
And so are you.

Free to fly,
But on a string,
Like a bird,
With a broken wing.

Decorated with bows,
Hiding the pain,
Wishing that this life,
Was just a game.

Being dragged around,
Everywhere you go,
"Where to next?"
I don't know.

There's something so special,
Something I can't resist,
That makes me want to live,
Makes me love to exist.

After a shadow of torment,
After a dark dreamscape,
After a hollowed out nightmare,
A doorway opens to an escape.

A night of no sleep or rest,
Just distractions from the world,
I opened my eyes and looked above,
To a painting now unfurled.

The sky was filled with streaks of paint,
Speckled clouds reigned above,
Birds singing a music box tune,
With Sunrise, I fell in love.

Her golden glimmers on each cloud,
Swift and soft, her slight Spring breeze,
Birds that scatter across the canvas,
Beauty as far as the human eye sees.

An image taken from my soul,
And planted into mind,
A scene I will look for again,
And again I hope to find.

You’ve had one,
You’ve had two,
A liar to some,
And the lie is you.

You’ve had three,
You’ve had four,
Wipe away that glee,
Because there will be no more.

But no, you’ve had five,
You’ve had six,
Karma will eventually arrive,
And that, you can’t fix.

You’ve had seven,
You’ve had eight,
You want that ticket back to heaven?
Yeah, well, you’re too late.

You’ve had nine,
You’ve had ten,
This is now a crime,
Don’t ever talk to me again.

You’ve had your last chance,
And now, I’m warning you,
Next time, you won’t get a glance,
And there’s nothing you can do.

You can’t find love without loss;
You can’t find joy without pain;
If you don’t go through hardship,
Life would stay the same.

It’s knowing what’s the worst
That lets you love the best,
And every moment in between
Is nothing like the rest.

The people that you fight for
Are the people you should keep;
If they’re worth every breath,
Believe in faith and leap.

If they bring joy in the pain
And provide love in the loss,
Then it was written in the stars
For your two paths to cross.

It seems cliché and cheesy,
But this much can be true:
You must mean every word
When you tell them, ‘I love you.’

We struggle in life to make a living,
We work ourselves down to the bone,
But never are we thanked for living,
Instead we make it on our own.

Every artist that you know of,
Famous in their passing.
They never know their legacies,
Never know their lasting.

Not just those with a brush,
But each poet in old times
Will never see the day
That kids study their old rhymes.

Each composer will not hear
The symphonies they create
Being sung by a choir
Until after meeting fate.

Fame does not come easily,
"All he had to do was die,
It seems a lot less work,
We ought to give it a try".

We respect those that did,
Not those that are doing,
It seems this way of life
Will be our own undoing.

If we have no regard
For each soldier that fights
For each star that sings
For each poet that writes.

We will lead them to their graves
Just for that single taste,
For their legacy to remain,
For their legacy to be graced.

It seems that man is hungry,
Power, wealth, all the same,
It seems that man is greedy,
Needing his final fame.

The time has come again,
Of commemoration,
To the men who fought,
At their final destination.

Years and years ago,
Let out, was a vast strife,
And among that war,
A man who lost his life.

Remembering those soldiers,
Lines and lines of men,
Who dreamt of protecting,
Since they were merely ten.

They fell while serving,
But their dreams were met,
And on this solemn day,
We say, “Lest We Forget.”

"Life is like riding a bicycle,
To keep your balance you must keep moving."

This was said by Einstein,
A man of talents, many,
Who would share his thoughts,
For much less than a penny.

He did have a point,
Life simply goes on,
It needs to be savored,
Before a chance is gone.

"It is as easy,
As riding a bike."
But life is harder,
Than we'd like.

It requires skill,
Focus and time,
And sometimes life,
Doesn't go by design.

Sometimes it feels like,
Make-believe, pretend,
But it is still life,
Until the very end.

Friendly, pleasant,
Easy to like,
Taking your stance,
Ready to strike.

Regardless of your antics,
I am not intrigued,
For I am not a simple man,
And I'm rather fatigued.

I don't understand,
Why you take your aim,
And fire for me,
I'm not the same.

Not like you,
Or up to standard,
Where you heard this,
Surely, it's slandered.

I'm not likeable,
So why you shoot for me,
Is unbeknownst by myself,
It's very hard to see.

You and I are different,
You, defined by popularity,
Then me, defined by smarts,
And my mundane ability.

You are you,
You're likeable,
This isn't the 1100s,
This isn't a round table.

A lost love is,
A loosened grip,
A stumble, a fall,
A slip, or a trip.

A lost love is,
A tear down your cheek,
A heart so bland,
A soul so bleak.

A lost love is,
A downcast day,
A maze of misery,
A wall hiding the way,

A lost love is,
Though unwanted, there,
And for it's arrival,
We can never prepare.

Love is a social construct,
An empty train to conduct,
A missile set to self-destruct,
A faint light, by trees, obstruct.

A forest of unknowing,
Lies are of the showing,
In the trees, blowing,
A struggle is ongoing.

It will be the end,
All made up, pretend,
No way to defend,
No longer a friend.

Causing you strife,
Haunting your life,
Were husband and wife,
Now a blunt knife.

Useless, neglected,
*****, infected,
All memories collected,
No longer respected.

Life isn't simplified,
This relation long has died,
Told and forced to take a side,
No rules left to abide.

Slashed and yelled to go away,
Waiting like a sitting prey,
Filled of an emotional buffet,
Soon to become a vicious fray.

This surely can't be right,
Wasn't supposed to cause a fight,
Grasping for thin rays of light,
In the darkness of the night.

Impossible to find,
They say love is blind,
But I was defined,
By a tightly closed mind.

They said this was our time ahead,
Chose not to listen to what they said,
I was fatefully filled with dread,
On the floor, my soul had bled.

They have nothing left to say,
No one there for my dismay,
Just needing someone to come stay,
I'm left, lodged in this cliche.

Only destruction in its wake,
Love isn't blind, but love is fake,
Nothing to give, just wanting to take,
Until it drives you to finally break.

Love is a social construct,
An empty train to conduct,
A missile set to self-destruct,
A faint light, by trees, obstruct.

I write with no inspiration
Except longing on my mind
A siren call of missing you
With silence hard to find

The sirens sing louder
And louder through the night
I'm drawn into their ocean
And spiral out of sight

I wrote with the intention
That this piece would be of joy
Of 'happy' and of 'wonder'
And not a darker ploy

But alas, here I sit
In a stranger's bed
Alone with my teddy
And nothing to be said

The sadness in my mind
Screams louder than before
The tears begin to stream
And I'm sickened to the core

After all this writing
I know the only ploy
Is the silent sniffles
Of loving a boy

I sit and look,
At children around,
Sitting, chatting,
Playing games they found.

I sit alone,
And watch them play,
Thinking about them,
In another day.

What they aspire,
To do with their lives,
Is currently ignored,
As this room thrives.

But I'm watching,
Waiting for their move,
To life, themselves,
They are trying to prove.

So I sit, listen,
Wait for them to act,
I’ve mastered this skill,
Attention, I will not attract.

Algebra, how wonderful,
Calculus, even greater,
Do you want the cons,
Now or later?

Well, I can't say I don't enjoy it,
Mathematics is interesting enough,
But it can get a tad confusing,
And pretty freaking tough.

I'm currently in math class,
How funny is that?
Yeah, not much,
But we can't exactly chat.

We can't talk, I finished the task,
So now, what do I do?
Write a poem of course,
With equations like, 73+2.

I tried my best,
A poem in class,
I hope you enjoyed,
But it doesn't mean I'll pass.

I make my mother cry,
More than I make her smile,
Take a step but go back five,
When I try to walk a mile.

We were running in the field.
She was chasing me.
I ran home and slammed the door shut.

Banging.

Laughing.

Squealing.

Silence.

. . .

I opened the door.
She was just lying there.

Bruised.
Bloodied.
Torn apart.

What I heard was just my mind playing games.


Pleading.

Crying.

Screaming.

Silence.

Sometimes I sit,
Staring at my reflection,
Noticing every minor,
Flaw and imperfection.

A mirror is an opposite,
A flip of reality,
A twisted, woven lie,
Of our actuality.

What we do not see,
On a mirror's face,
Is the flipped perfection,
We yearn to showcase.

We only notice what is wrong,
Never what seems right,
And that is a mirror's fault,
Altering our sight.

But it is just a mirror,
A mere, flipped reflection,
But everyone is filled,
With inner human perfection.

Mirror, mirror,
On the wall,
Who is the fairest,
Of them all?

Mirror, mirror,
Tall you stand,
Who is the greatest,
In all the land?

Mirror, mirror,
Mighty, strong,
Tell me who,
Is in the wrong?

Mirror, mirror,
Don't play this game,
Who is the stunning,
Most bewildering dame?

Mirror, mirror,
On the wall,
Please, I beg you,
Answer my call.

Mother, all the times,
You rocked me to sleep,
And when you held me,
As I would weep.

Mother, all the time,
You spent by my side,
In you, I now trust,
In you, I confide.

Mother, all the patience,
You've had to hold high,
As I grew older and,
Mistakes would come by.

Mother, all the love,
You've given to me,
Couldn't be more grateful,
Honestly.

Mother, I don't know,
How I could repay,
The actions you have taken,
All with care along the way.

Everything you do for me,
Is a gesture so grand,
And in this moment, all I offer,
Is a hug where I stand.

Today is my birthday,
Twelve on the dot,
Not the best so far,
But it's all I got.

I'll work with it,
See what I can do,
Because there's no need,
For me to listen to you.

Put me down,
Drag me to hell,
But no matter what,
I won't hide in my shell.

Today is my day,
A memory to keep,
But not right now,
Now it's time to sleep.

Maybe it’s because I enjoyed the solace of each silver sliver of the salted stream that slid smoothly down my face’s curves.
Maybe it’s because I yearned for the comfort of my heated cheeks, blood rushing and adrenaline coursing.
Maybe it’s because each time I slammed the back of my head against the wall or my hand against the floor I felt alive, like the pain grounded me.

But I think most of all, the silence after the wails are what strike me down from where I stand every single time.
My world, moments ago, was filled with the sound of my own agony, and now all I hear are the remnant wavers in my voice and the cackle of birds that heard my commotion.
I result to writing a poem just to drown out the silence.
Repeating every word back, over and over, not to let the piece sink in or to edit what I’ve written, but to make the pain of realisation stop.

The realisation of being truly alone.

The realisation that only comes after you’ve been crying and there’s no one to reassure you.
The realisation that screams louder on the bathroom floor.
“You’re never truly alone, I’m always here to help”, but what if I don’t want to ask?

What if I’m afraid that these words you say are just words.
That you’ll only comfort me while I cry
    and once I stop
         you’re silent.



My least favourite part about crying is when it stops.

I never sleep,
Never breathe,
Never eat,
Never heave.

I watch others as they run,
Running out of time,
And their broken hourglass,
Is what I claim as mine.

The souls of the grieving,
Give me no remorse,
A job I must complete,
Successful by brute force.

I am needed everywhere,
But needed nowhere too,
For I lurk the wailing halls,
With only a job to do.

I have no time to sit and cry,
No time left for my own,
I wander the Earth’s surface,
Searching only for my home.

I know I will not find it,
My company is not yearned,
And over millions of years,
‘Tis the only lesson I learned.

People wait for me to show,
As they grasp for breath,
But I am not wanted here,
For my name is Death.

New year,
New me,
Is that false hope,
I clearly see?

Time isn't relative,
You're still the same,
New Year's resolutions,
Drive people insane.

This has to stop,
It can't happen every year,
'Cause being overweight,
Is the least of your fears.