It’s days like these that I feel the worst about everything I do.
Cheerful cherry blossoms spiral around my black cloud,
landing apologetically on my slouching shoulders.
The birds seem to quiet as I pass by,
refusing to meet my frigid eyes.
It’s the same routine,
addicted like nicotine.

Days pass by and my spiteful poetry grows,
prisoners screaming behind muffled reminders.
All they yearn for is to be as free as the tide
slowly teasing,
yet one day we will become those crashing waves,
luring other dreamers to awake from the haze.

A boy told me he loved me the other day.
I looked at him, confused,
and told him not to love me.
Not to waste something so valuable on something so insignificant.
So he simply put his arms around my broken bones and told me instead,
“I adore you.
I adore all your quirks,
I adore all your dreams,
I adore all your scars,
I adore all your faults,
I adore you.”

It is a lighter burden to be adored than loved.

I saw you for the first time in the summer,
when sunflowers mourn the sun at night -
the loss of a light and adjoining heat,
which nurtures restlessness
in the confined atomic particles,
causing them to dance
and grow tired of each other until
ice becomes liquid
and liquid becomes vapor...

Cycles are consistencies in nature,
beginnings and ends that are defined by perception.
And so, in a way,
I'm not the first person
who thinks she loves you,
nor the last -
just a witness to a portion of your evolution,
which will end the same way it began:
a darkness constructed of eyelids,
as sweet as silence.

A sour sap of jealousy
seeps upon my thoughts when I see you.
I feel like screaming,
like pulling my hair out,
because unwanted epiphanies are pretty weeds;
dandelions that seed with winds.

A sap that blinds sufficiently
for me to believe you possessed green eyes.

I don't want to love you.

And yet,
I'm content with
the uncomfortable certainty of confinement,
of silence,
of distance and uninteraction,
with trailing eyes like shooting stars.

We made a promise -
"Love each other till we die,"
What do I do now?

It's hard to stay here
When everything you know *****
And your parents care.

I'm secretly
            and inevitably
in complete
   and utter

  head over heels
in love
     with you.

But you will never know,
  for you are miles from me,
and with another girl,
who,
          I pray,
  will love you just as much as I will;

forever and a day.

seven o’clock and your mother makes you tea
she says sit down
the sky looks lovely today

doesn’t it?
doesn’t it

she says this very quietly,
tapping her red fingernails
against the white table

and you know she has
something important to tell
you

you know this because she’s gotten
out her finest china set, the one with
the blue flowers painted like beads

and you know she’s about to say
something awful and you look at
the sky and there it comes

your father is leaving

and all you think is how the sky looks
lovely

doesn’t it

What a lovely feeling it must be to wake up next to someone who you madly, crazily, ridiculously love and for them to feel the same way about you.
What a lovely feeling it must be to wake up next to someone, and see the sun shining through the blinds, forming little roads on their bare back, the dust lazily dancing around them effortlessly.
What a lovely feeling it must be to wake up next to someone you grow old with, and to feel the same love you did when you were wild, naïve youth.

On tuesday
I drank tea with a skeleton named Eileen.
Her fingers were long
and her lips were drawn
like a frown, unable to move.
It was a sad sight to see
and it convinced me to be
happy
no matter what the weather.

On Tuesday,
I drank tea with a skeleton
named Eileen.
Her fingers were long,
and her lips were drawn
like a frown, unable to move.
It was a sad sight to see,
and it convinced me to be happy,
now matter the weather,
and she said --

If I were to die,
which I will, one day,
I would like to pass in a forest,
for surely it is curious
for a life to end
where so many
begin.

So we laid her body in a bed of daisies
and painted her eyelids with raspberry tears
and coated her lips with the Queen's honey
and covered her naked corps with ferns
so that she finally experienced the embrace of a Mother.
Cause she said --

If I were to die,
which I will, one day,
I would like to pass in a forest,
for surely it is curious
for a life to end
where so many
begin.

Sometimes you meet someone
who just seems to click.

I met that boy,
at a concert of all places.
He made me feel beautiful
and full of vibrant life.

Today we met up for coffee,
and he told me we weren't "working."
My vibrancies have vanished,
the butterflies
I wish we could have shared
through intimate exchanges
have escaped,
unplanned.

*I am numb

As a child my mother would read stories
as I hung around her neck,
and she would stroke my hair,
lulling me to sleep
with visions of two lovers
overcoming their inner demons.
In the end, they'd live happily ever after.
    
    As an adult now,
    I bear this in mind.
    My lover and I both battle inner demons
    But his author strays,
    unlike mine,
    leading him to far-off lands,
    diving into waters so deep. . ...
    I thought we would live happily ever after,
    
    But his mind is a different story

There is an empty bitterness
which is sustained here.
One can't help but feel helpless
as loved ones inhale fear
and exhale possible precious breaths.

The "too clean" smell intrudes the senses,
and nervous flickers arise
as the waiting room fills with tensions.
People think of their goodbyes
just in case the worst news comes.

But then there is the expecting room,
which is a hopeful place.
"Baby is coming soon!"
"Come see her pretty face!"

And yet amidst the joy and excitement,
there are still those who don't
receive all they dreamt of,
and perhaps are unable to receive it.

Perhaps they will end up
in the other
room
sooner than expected.

I fail to notice
Men's eyes outlining my body.
I fail to notice
Men's whistles as I walk by.
I fail to notice
Men's words escaping them with the wind which runs through my hair.

But I do notice
Men's firm grip on my delicate wrists.
I do notice
Men's sweet aroma as they snarl into my ear.
I do notice
Men's ***** fingernails on my soft, milky-coloured waist.

Spring is here.
I know this because the daffodils have bloomed
and the birds have begun to fall in love,
and the sunlight is lingering,
and the rays kiss my back,
much as you once did.
Spring is here
yet I wish
I wasn't.

i fell in love with him
on a cold december morning,
when the sun was just peering through
much as i was,
catching a glimpse of his green eyes
and goofy grin,
and too-big ears,
and freckled face.

i  fell in love with him
on a breezy february afternoon,
when i was at a show,
and he asked to sit next to me,
our eyes locking,
hearts thumping,
bodies twitching nervously,
as i whispered,
"sure."

i fell in love with him
on a warm march evening,
when we crossed paths again,
and he sang sweet melodies softly to the audience,
never knowing i was there,
and never will know
i was there,
clinging onto his every note and movement.

i fell in love with him
as many others did,
as many of the books i read would tell me i would,
as many humans foolishly have over the centuries,
as many will continue to do.

isn't it strange?

but all i could think of

when you dropped me off

was how i wanted you -

yet in the most innocent ways…

i wanted you

to wake me up with your soft groans

as you stretched out each limb.

i wanted you

to warm my always frigid body

with your ever warming grace.

i wanted you

to listen on the bad days,

and laugh on the good days.

i wanted you

to trace my skin with your fingertips,

and not hesitate near my scars. 

i wanted you

for so many reasons,

but none of them were good enough

for you to stay.

There was a time
when we had the most innocently
beautiful romance.
It was something you'd see in the movies -
but none of this "Fault in Our Stars" ****,
but like... "The Notebook."
Which is still ****,
but it's the best comparison I can think of.

You came to me in the month of November,
and we were instantly taken with each other.
You said, in your amazingly adorable German accent,
"I'll only be here for a year,"
And I pushed that to the back of my head to save until
later,
So perhaps it didn't seem as if we were counting
precious moments
in between easy conversation.

December came,
and snow fell with it,
as we continued to mirror the delicate
flakes descending on our noses
as we sled down neighborhood hills,
and you told me stories of your grandparent's house,
how knitting with your grandma was still a work in progress,
and the sock you attempted to make
looked more like a potato sack.
But this interaction,
you behind me,
I hugging onto your legs,
was the closest interaction I'd had
for the longest time.

That night,
I slept with you,
in the most innocent use of the phrase.
And when I woke, there you were,
gently stroking the small of my back,
smiling sleepily.
I wanted to wake up like this every time.

People would see us walking downtown together in spring,
and would sense our vibrancy,
and smile as we were lost in our own world.
We never spoke of being a "couple,"
and we never held hands or anything like that,
we just had a beautiful relationship.
And for once in my life,
even to this day,
I search for a man who was as respectable as you.

You left on an afternoon of June,
and told me you never kissed me because
"Loving you and leaving you are two things I cannot bear."
You returned two summers later.
And left again in late August.
Maybe one day you will stay.

Yet with every flicker
of my heart (which
mirrors
the flickers of his eyes),
I know that it is not right.
We are not right.
But how could that be so?
He makes me feel loved
and wanted
and beautiful
and so protected.
Everything you
didn't make me feel.

Yet with every flicker
of my eyelashes
meeting his reassuring gaze,
I know he is more
than you could ever have been.

One night I fell asleep in your arms,
you held me the whole night through.
And in the morning the sun woke me,
So I snuggled up to your comforting body,
feeling careless and warm.
One night I fell asleep with the moon
to hold me the whole night through.
In the morning, the sun had woken me,
And I snuggled up to the sheets,
feeling careful and cold
for you had left me
broken and bruised.

i wish these oceans of blankets
could be replaced by you.
instead of tracing flowers,
i would connect your "sun-kisses,"
as my mum would say,
and lead them up to your heart,
then your lips,
lingering as you inhale my love,
burrowing deep inside your lungs.

maybe if you were there
to replace those drowned blankets,
maybe
maybe your shattered chest
would still rise and
fall
to the cadence
of my bruised lungs.

he told me, "put down the cigarette,"
worried i'd get sick.
i looked at him with regret,
craving nicotine like a nervous tick.
we left around half past twelve,
just to clear the air,
leaving my heart on the shelves.
he asked, "is this really fair?
breaking my heart this way?"
he reiterated his worry.
and i laughed it all away
"don't fret, my honey.
i'm clean and new.
my heart has been glued
and is no longer in two.
i'm eating my food -
see look! my ribs!
they're aren't as pronounced.
maybe one day we really can have kids."
his hand held mine as he denounced
that i was still no good
i was still no better
than before emotions would flood
his heart, i still his debtor.
so on i went,
forward to the waves,
and on this pole i leant,
until i came to with sun's rays...
and i became one with the sea.
she is more than i would ever be.

I met a boy today

who had the sun in his hair,

the ocean in his eyes,

and the earth in his skin.

He never muttered a word,

but it were as if the

world around us

paused

and listened

to two broken hearts

slowly mending.

So we laid her body in

her bed of daisies,

and set her hair ablaze

with sunflower petals,

and painted her eyelids
with raspberry tears,

and coated her lips

with the queen’s honey,

and covered her naked corpse

with ferns

so that she finally 
experienced the embrace

of a Mother.

If I were to die,

which I will,

one day,

I would like to pass in a 
forest of
trees and 
animals.

For surely it is 

curious and 
ironic
for a life to
end

where so many

begin.

I knew a girl who would write sadness across her arms,
along her waist,
down her thighs,
and out through her toes
in hopes that one day,
she too would be free.

Souls seeped through the
c u t s
on my skin,
luring you in.
But I miss the
warmth
of your heart,
it was my favourite melody.

I'll curl up on the floor,
with sunlight intruding like a
wolf
*** ti n g
for my icy bones,
but you'll be there to stand your ground,
fingertips writing poetry on my spine.

And these words are all I have left
        And these words are all I have left

of you

I had three requirements:
a beautiful song
a beautiful place
and only one person
with me
(because I wanted intimacy)

but intimacy is more than just solitude
or shared silence
with another soul

intimacy
is a warm cloth
weaved
by people who
love you,

I realised.

And so we
sat on the floor
and inhaled
out of a fragile
broken mechanism

and watched
the stars
try to disappear.

I prayed for the first time in many moons yesterday.
Hurt and anger seemed to choke my heart,
and its poisonous vines crept to my brain,
s l o w l y
making the world around me turn
so everything I knew and grew to love,
vanished.
The time,
I thought,
had come.

I prayed for the first time in many moons yesterday.
Sick of living the way I was,
I pleaded for a change.
Regretting straying away from Faith,
lying vulnerably on my bed,
I pleaded with God to forgive me.
The suicidal thoughts and depression
had gone too far.
Devilish thoughts consumed me,
and I needed to feel whole again as I once did.

I prayed for the first time in many moons yesterday.
Feeling compelled, I opened my Bible.
Psalm 140-143, each segment in my Bible entitled
to everything I prayed for.
A Prayer for Protection
A Prayer not to Sin
A Prayer for Safety
A Prayer not to be Killed
God answered me.
Again, I was drawn to my radio.
The first words I hear upon switching
to what I considered a "dumb contemporary Christian" station;

"I'm forgiven."

at some point in my life,
a bitter seed was planted in my veins -
or perhaps it had been there all along,
and its roots slowly raced toward my heart?
all i'm certain of is this;
i'm not the person i
used to be.
i've hurt too many people
and done too many unacceptable deeds,
and thought too many negative thoughts
to continue with my life at
this same
pace
in which i exist.

life's a whole lot more complex than
dreams, tea, and poetry.
maybe one day i'll wake up and realise
i'm not growing any younger.

He was the boy who listened to the kooks
and wore scarves for fun
and hummed as he walked
and smiled at the birds
and went home
with prayers for death on his lips.

i've got about 110,000 hairs on my head,
and half of them are in your bed.
i'm not quite sure why this occurs -
but i think we should head upstairs.

i think i saw you in my dreams,
but that's not really how it seems...
'cause i awoke to you here with me,
so i won't complain - just let it be.

you took me to meet your family,
i accepted, begrudgingly.
they scooped me in with one swift swoop,
as i tried to jump through all their hoops.

i think i saw you in my dreams,
but that's not really how it seems...
'cause i awoke to you here with me,
so i won't complain - just let it be.

driving late at night,
you hold my hand and make it right.
with a single smile and flick of your charm,
i know you'll protect me from any harm.

i know i saw you in my dreams,
but don't wake me, just hold me, please.

sometimes i wonder what the point of living is. 
we watch our elders perform the same tasks each day. go to work, come home, eat, pay bills, sleep, and repeat. every. day.

for me, i would never be satisfied by that. i want to go and… just go. i don’t care where.
i want to meet people and be known for something big and DO something great. 

but then the pessimist inside my brain laughs at my naïvety and mocks my heart for ever thinking i could be something great. and my guts are too much a coward to end this painful routine.

Tan skin
Against soft creme.
Dark, ruffled hair
Intertwining golden caramel.
Low grunts
Harmonizing with sweetest melodies.
Thin, lying lips
Locking poisonous deceit.
Still air,
Silencing symphonies
Her grin.
His shock.
My naïvety.

don’t tiptoe around her feelings.
don’t smother truths among lies.
don’t think you can mend her porcelain heart.
don’t expect her to listen to you.
don’t tell her to grow up.
don’t ask her too many questions when she’s hurting.
don’t be afraid to touch her scars.
don’t rush her.

do love her endlessly.
do stay with her and just hold her.
do play with her hair.
do kiss away her tears.
do hum in her ear softly as you stroke her back.
do stay with her while she sleeps.
do stay with her while she wakes.
do respect her boundaries.
do have patience.
do feel honoured when she opens up to; it is a rare thing and means she values you.

Even sunflowers grow tired of
praising the sun when it rises
and mourning it when it sets.

Did you really think I was okay?
  when you saw my nicotine-stained teeth
Did you really think I was okay?
  when the only sound heard from recycling were
    the heavy clank! of bottles
Did you really think I was okay?
  when I only wore long sleeves in the steaming
    summer
Did you really think I was okay?
   when they cut me open and saw my bruised and
   battered corpse?

This is a haiku
About the day you left me
When I needed you.

Please don't lose yourself in your wild, untamed mind.

Wait to lose yourself and be consumed by nervous thoughts in the wee hours of the morning until I'm with you.

Wait to explore undiscovered ruins hidden in the crevices of your brain until I find my way to where you have stumbled.

Wait to enter the caverns of lost memories and shattered wishes until I have decoded intricate hieroglyphics.

Wait to illuminate this forgotten jungle until you are ready to let me see all the beautiful and ugly creatures which lurk and cower in its tangled roots.

          I reassure you; I will still adore you no
         matter what evils we stumble upon along our
          journey,
         for I know,
         deep in the heart of this wild labyrinth
         awaits decadence and beauty.

"You are my sunshine,"
My mother would sing to me.
But I am the grey.