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i already miss flying
high above myself,
unaware of every ****
i should maybe be giving.

healing is hurting.
healing is hurting.

i plant flowers in my
wounds instead,
fully aware—I feel them
grow from me
& bloom.

painful, beautiful.

and so powerful.

I used to find power in
rejecting &
subjecting myself.

healing is hurting.
healing is hurting.

hurt people hurt people.
but healed people heal people.
and maybe sometimes they’re
the same person.
A phrase is given, from me to you,
'cause there's not one **** feeling
we all haven't been through.
We are still responsible for healing ourselves.
Leave the painful memories up on the shelves.
You're not so special, in the grunge of pain.
We'd all get wet if we stood in the rain.
You're not so bright, in the dullness of dread.
We all get lost running through our own heads.

This isn't to say, your emotions aren't worthy;
but life responds limply to " you will fix it for me".
Demand respect out of slight, 'til your face turns blue,
Again I repeat, it's a "likewise ditto", from me to you.
The wayward divinity
flows through us all,
speaking to our missing piece,
divided we might fall.

When community is true,
we help each other through,
by the knowledge of one,
we can't be torn in two.

The love of humility
can open anyone's heart
and  intent to be honest
unites when we fall apart.
Thanks to my friend Chris Choi for co-writing.
 Apr 29
vik the computer
i think someone stitched my pockets closed
and the fluorescent light above me flickers,
as if it's possessed by a lonely ghost.

these days grow softer, lines fading into watercolor
and my mouth tastes like a hundred cotton *****
from all these pills i've been prescribed to swallow.

i remember when i wanted to be loved,
now i only want the beating of my heart to cease
but the pulse in my wrists belongs to someone else
and when i look in the mirror, the creature i see isn't me.

sundays are the days i was tangled up in the sheets suffocating
and choking out sobs i couldn't form into proper words
if only her arms could finally envelop me in gentle darkness.
i swear im haunted
 Apr 24
You are not here for the truth
And I am not going to lie,
let us depart with a solemn goodbye
 Apr 19
that broken
and empty shell
just moves
by itself
through  the
same emotions
again and again
like a pre-programmed machine
completely unaware
that its other half
is already somewhere far far away
that's what I love about the mind
as long as you remove all voices
but your own,
there doesn't exist a boundary
you cant overcome
but even that is easier said than done
as limitless as the mind can be
it can also be an endless prison
just a poem I am writing before sleeping
 Apr 18
A poem is a story itself
it's just ambiguous
 Apr 18
we try to escape demons by hiding away
and locking ourselves in our rooms
but what are we to do
when the demon follows us home?
people feign ignorance
and happiness is a trick of smoke and mirrors
when the stage is cleared
all that's left
are the scars
A smile is the most beautiful form of deception.
 Apr 17
six pm
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
                                ⁕                             ­ ­                                                               ­  ­                    *                               ⊹
· ⊹                                               * ·      · ˚
⁕                                                              ­  ­                                                              ­   ­        ⁞

for you i am a tequila sunrise;
for you i am heartbeat panging
through the pages
of schoolgirl crush notebook.
kissing crux of neck bone crest collar,
soft and warm as morning bread.
                                                      .   ­                              •
                                 ­                 ⁕
you are at least 6′ tall.
i blink.
     .                    *          i am sure.                                    ⊹

   .     ⨀              i say: starlight you are sunshine    ✧                .
   and i love you like buttercups.
i write you sonnets and give you heartbeat
✧             gift wrapped in its parchment.            
            .                             ­        .                        
                               ­    ⋆
­you grow 10′ taller.
you are menace and
i am mouse.

i tell you i am falling from your eyelash.
*     you grow larger. 20′ tall now.      
.        •·            13 miles you crest everest.           ⋱        .
i go to hold your hand
but i’m a lonely golden pebble.
                   you ask the clouds a favor;                
to blow their wind and push you away.
                                   .                     º            
­                             ⊹
you are leaving.
i will stay.
i tell you i need you.
  i feel nothing.  ·•
⁖   •․    i am in the stratosphere; floating        *   .
i am a helium balloon
and you are shrinking.
⋆ ­             you are dusking sunset             .
.    through bleary eye slits      .
and it is getting cold here.
⋰        star sparkle my vision sun sinking            .
º        backlit dropping…      
⊹                  .                             ­                                   ­
  ◐  •             you are              · ˚ ✷.

… my lover?    ⊹

· ˚ ⊹.      you are           ·  º

˚ ⁕      …my height now.       ·•      

you are smaller.
  ✧                 you are sprawling pacific ocean.                   *
whole life ahead of you.

  * ·      · ˚ ✷.              .
                                               ­      º
i am drifting alone.
         i still love you.     
·    .             you are orange melodrama, ⊹            .    ·
you are marmalade paintings
on still-life ocean surface.
you are the west
  * ·      ·                              ˚ ✷.
                                          ✧                                  ∗
                          ­                                             ​.
                                                          · •                .

⁕                                                              ­­     .

               ✧           and i am gone.                         
                           ­                                    ​

•                      ­ ­           
                                                   ­            ­         ​.
∗                                       ­             ­                               ⁕⊹      * ·      · ˚.
  ✧ ∗
                          ­                                             ​.

∗              ­ ­                      ⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
  ✧                                          ⁕
                    ­­     .                                            

every constellation becomes a new map evolving
and i am only marrow
you can see right through me.
i am an open book and you are diary entry.
∗                            .                            ­        ⊹

                         ­  ⁕

           .                                            •
star­tling the starlings with my stories.
∗i regale earth’s ******* mud, her jewel weeds,

dandelion wish clouds,
and the way you kept together everything.
∗                            .                       ­             ⊹

                         ­  ⁕

           .                                            •
fu­r­loughed like an arrow.
you sentenced me to no-thing.
bone marrow bow flung me
with the bow crafted of my own heart strings.
sorry. i couldn’t make it to the moon by morning.
i hope the darkness wasn’t so bad.
i hope you missed me.  

–six pm | *furloughed
   ⁕                                                                ­­                .


                                                               ­ ­               •

⁕                                                   ­­                .

                                             ­­                                                ​


                      ­                                         ­         ​.

∗         ­                                          ­                      ­          ⁕⊹      * ·      · ˚.
  ✧ ∗

                          ­­                                              ​.

∗             ­ ­                       ⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
  ✧                                          ⁕

∗                                                            ­ ­             

                                                ­  ­             ⁕
A style I've been perfecting since 2016. I love to blend visual art with my poetry.
Less is more.. or so the saying goes,
a common cliche, yet only few know,
the secret to joy never came in numbers;
whether in an account, or from people you're under.

It's not on a plane, and it's not in a tower.
It's not in a house, or a yard full of flowers.
If you buy it, it may not last more than an hour.
Give it a name or a date, it will soon turn sour.

For we can make nothing, if we have no desire.
The heart's sacred job is to delight and inspire.
Yet take conscious heed of where action derives,
a root without nurture rarely survives.
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