Ejiro

Ejiro 2d

There was cafe near my neighborhood
when I walk past it, I saw someone through the glass windows
there was a way younger version of myself
sitting at a table as she kicks her feet in the air while whistling a jolly tune
I enter inside and sit across from her
she seemed eager to see me and began to start a conversation
which only lead to her rambling on about random topics
she was a chatterbox of sorts, and I had nothing to reply
a waitress came to our table and ask what we wanted
she asked for a cup of tea while I asked for a coffee
when she came back and gave us our drinks
she blows on her tea and takes small sips since it was too hot
while I drink my coffee full
ignoring the feeling of my tongue burning
after I finished my drink,
she began to ask me numerous of questions
and over time the questions got more irritating
she asked about what we have become
and I said nothing in response
she began begging me for answers
trying to make me break out of my cocoon but I don't budge
finally in a heat of the moment
I snatched her unfinished tea and splash it on her face
it was still hot, and she began to weep and cry from the pain
other people in the cafe looked over at us with utter shock
some left their tables to comfort her
while others tried to interrogate me on why I did that
I wished I can tell them
on how much I despise my younger self so much
but I know it would be no use
so left the cafe and never step foot their ever again
and yet every time I pass that same cafe
I see her once again but with bandages on her face instead
she whistled a sluggish tune and rock her feet in the air
it looked like she seemed to be waiting for me
but now was not the time

I'm never entering that cafe ever again, but I wonder if she knows that

#coffee #tea

Ejiro Feb 12

Purity comes with a price

I once had this peculiar dream
where the purest thing left within me
was vanishing away softly
and I couldn’t get it back unless it was on a price tag
and during that blissful dream
I paid $50 to a fortune teller
even though the words of a scam was written on her face with permanent ink
with a dim light above our heads
she pulls out a crystal ball with scratches and small little cracks on it
as if it has been used as a toy way before
I take my palms out and interlock with her fingertips
she began to send tiny shock waves that tingled down my spine
during the process the crystal ball started to break more and more
until she lets go of me with a gasp expression
I asked what was wrong but she didn’t respond
her face turned pale like snow and after she calmed herself down she rose me to my feet
“I saw a glimpse of you..from the past, present, and future and yet your soul was still at ease with numbness” she said
I was confused at first until I saw my reflection on the cracked crystal ball
“Your soul is tired and it begs to be heard” she said with a sad expression
at first I paid her to read my fortune
but now she tries to be a psychic (a horrible one at most) upon my behalf
after the secession was over I wanted to give het a tip but she refused
saying I should pay back when I become pure

but how can ones’ soul become pure again,
when it only found comfort in sorrow?

I don’t really know if I had this dream, but it’s hard to tell the difference between a false reality and a dream that didn’t feel melancholy

Ejiro Feb 11

Bruised up kneecaps

it was a hot summer day
where the crickets hummed in tune
while the raging sun leaves remnants of sweat pouring down my forehead
the sidewalk was burning up every millisecond
to the point were you’re able to fry bacon on the concrete instead of using a grill
during that time period
I was learning how to ride a bike without training wheels
but unfortunately no one was around to keep me up float
so there I was in the middle of the sidewalk
with my pink sparkly bicycle and my small helmet attached to my head
one foot was on the ground while the other was touching the boiling concrete surface
with one big push
I began to move forward but in wobbly directions
trying to keep myself steady on the pedals
until a moment later a crack on the sidewalk hit the front wheel
and soon my body collapsed onto the ground
with my knees first and then my entire torso
I weeped with pain but the burning sun
was the only one who heard me
I yelled for my parents but only silence responded to me
my knees were scraped and had small cuts with blood oozed all the way down till it touched my shoelaces
those few minutes felt like hours
and until the sun faded away slowly
I began to recover from my tears
I tried to stand but gravity pushed me down
with little strength in me I used my bicycle as a tool to push me up until I was able to stand with a limping manner
I was not the same person no more
and so as I walked home
my parents finally came to me asking questions of what happened to my knees
but I kept my voice low
for it was only the raging sun that heard my mourning hours
and that was enough for me

Ejiro Feb 8

His image covers my silence

I made my mother cry one day
it was from a accident I had done
and on that same day
I knew what she viewed me as
I wanted to apologize for my actions
but she only heard the sound of the man she despised
echoing through my voice
when I realized what she saw within me
I began to tear my face apart
but I couldn't
never in my life have I thought
I have turned into the person
I didn’t want to become
the feeling of ashamed
running through my veins
pouring through my tears
and ever since that unfortunate moment
I began to cover every mirror in my path
worried about seeing him
through my reflection
And every time I saw my face
through the mirror’s gaze
I feared I'd see his trace.
So I covered every mirror near,
hiding from the growing fear.
But running never heals the past,
and hiding shadows doesn't last.
One day I stood and faced the glass,
and saw myself no longer masked.
I found my mother, soft but strong,
and told her where I had gone wrong.
She held my hand and let me see
I wasn't him but just simply me

Ejiro Feb 7

Chasing the Moon

Remember those pleasant times
when back then we used to believe the moon was following us
aside from all the other cars in the road
maybe the moon wanted to make sure we get home safely?
or maybe it wanted to tell us a secret up close
since the sun cannot keep a secret at all?
as we gazed upon its shining glory through the car window
questions of "why?" started to appear in my head
but it is when we only got home
my questions began to fade away like star dust
but now that is in the past when we were both young and naive
now I continue to gaze upon the moon
even though I had already been told by society that the moon isn't a chaser of sorts
bust just stays in one place before the sun comes in to take their shift
but can't a girl not wonder?
if perhaps the moon still watches with care,
tracing paths we no longer dare?
Though logic tells me it stands still,
my heart whispers it follows still
a guardian in silver hue,
casting dreams both old and new.
The world demands we shed such whims,
trade stardust thoughts for grounded hymns,
but I, defiant, hold them tight
these fragments of childhood light.
For in the quiet of the night,
when reason bows to softer skies,
I see the moon through younger eyes
and wonder, endlessly,
“why not?"

#moon

Ejiro Jan 31

The Unwanted Note

The 6E string in my guitar snapped
but I don’t mind since it’s just a string.
I can get another string somewhere else.
It’s not like one single string will ruin
the rest that’s left in my guitar.
But to be clear,
I never liked my 6E string.
It buzzed, squealed like it was its own person,
having a mind that refused to follow mine.
I hated it with every ounce of my being,
never understood why it had to be THAT string
that defied me so boldly.
It reminded me of my frustration,
of the times I wanted to slam my guitar down,
just to drown its chaotic scream.
Why couldn't it be deep like the low E?
Steady, rich, a dependable hum
the way I imagined all strings should be.
But I guess I asked too soon.
Maybe it needed to break
for me to finally hear the silence I mourn.
Maybe in snapping,
it reminded me that imperfection sings too,
that the stubborn, unpredictable noise
has its place in music,
even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear.
And as I sit here restringing,
I think — maybe next time,
I'll let the 6E string be

#music

Ejiro Jan 29

Where The Harvest Begins

Their is a fig tree that is pierced within me
a seed that lays still in my throat
and with every waking hour it grows
creating bittersweet leaves that leave my heart sore
and vines that wrap around my lungs,
suffocating me whenever I ponder.
And yet I am still breathing,
but it still hurts in the process.
I try to call a doctor to my aid,
but they have no antidote for me aside from prayers.
I even went to a botanist for answers,
but they just shake their heads with a sorry look in their eyes.
So I tend to the tree myself,
learning to prune its anguish and nurture its growth.
I whisper to the roots lodged in my chest,
pleading for peace instead of pain.
And slowly, as seasons shift,
the leaves soften, their bitterness fading,
the vines loosen their merciless grip.
What once strangled becomes a sanctuary
a quiet grove within my being.
The fig tree no longer harms me;
it blooms.
Its fruit tastes of resilience,
sweetness born from struggle,
and I learn to savor what I once feared

#figtree