I revisited this site and saw
How much I've written, how much I've grown.
Saw poems I cant believe I wrote
Words uttered, rhymes of note,
Emotions shared and shown,
Lines made repository of happiness and woes.

Some things have changed
While other remained the same.
I still write about love
Yet love eludes me all the same.
I cant write as actively as I want to be
Inspiration doesn't come in troves anymore, you see.

With age comes responsibilities,
Opened eyes requires facing life's realities.
But I'll continue living, maybe write a line or two
Maybe post it here, just like you do.
Life is hard, that much is true
But I'll still strive to thrive and I hope you do too.

Live, find the beauty in things,
Wonderful sceneries, family gatherings,
special people or precious pets,
in choices you've made, with or without regrets,
I hope even in love lost or memories that stings
You'll find the sliver of good that hopefully it brings

Live through books, music, or through poems
If there is not a person or a place,
may words be your home.

it was real
but it was not love
it was cleanly folded paper forming origami doves
but its not doves
nor was it love.

it demanded to be felt
to have a deeper meaning in the proximity
like constellations up above
but it was not love
misread by the heart
like stars seemingly aligned to one another but lightyears apart
it was not love.

i wish to stay,
pray,
fight for it to be what we want it to be,
love
but its not enough,
not if its not love.

Thoughts traverse my mind
As I walk the road home,
Steps mindlessly taken forward.
By myself, but not alone.

Kept company by my thoughts
About today, about tomorrow,
Of my actions of yesterday
Filled of happiness, or of sorrow.

Have I done what I could?
Is what I've done, what I should?
Should I have done what I did?
Why was I so cringe as a kid.

Given a chance for a life do-over,
Would I make the same choices again?
If I change some things, will I do better?
Or will it be for naught; in vain.

What should I do tomorrow?
Would it still be the same as today?
Am I doing what I want in life?
Or am I wasting it all away?
Am I just going to be stuck here forever?
Existing but so monotonously
Or can I live with the consequences of doing what I want,
And let things be?


Oh this thoughts, they walk with me.
Unrelenting, everyday, constantly.
On the road home, directions known with certainty,
I walk lost in dysphoric reverie.

but i cannot be
for i am not free
i am shackled
by people's expectations, the responsibility
to make them happy
to make them feel not hurt
even in times when i feel like dirt.
Even when i'm down,
i cannot be me
because, only as dirt can i help them grow
to help them heal
to make them feel loved and appreciated
for their need for validation to be constantly satiated
only as dirt, can i help them bloom
to be the person they need to be.
Son. Lover. Brother. Friend.
i am always another
but i am never me.