I don't know
But somewhere in my chest
I feel you

It must be the warmth
This energy that comes from within
That keeps me alive
And at the same time feeling stable

It must be this feeling
That comes from within
that warms me up
From the center of my chest
Until this energy flows
Through out my body

It must be this feeling I get that I don't feel anything else

He pedal till the petals fell...
Everyday, he'd pedal to his yard
To water the plants and make the greens stand out
But ever time he came to his yard
He watered the plants
But he never saw behind his back.

Thus he pedal till the petals fell
And until then
While looking at the road,
He saw the petals and realized
that I was the flower on his back.

His life.

I write what I write
Just to write what I have to write
Because if I write
to not write what I have to write
It'll be like I write
to write what I want to write
But this art of writing
does not work like that

Sometimes you wonder
what it feels like to kiss

And you want to kiss the world goodbye
And you want to kiss everyone good bye
But you know deep down
That that's not what you want
You know deep down that a kiss is sacred
And that your lips are only meant to kiss

Not death

But life

Bright, bright, stars,
that visit the sky with lights,
without you, my nights,
would be nothing but dark

And full, full, moon,
that comes every once,
without you, I'd be soon,
a lonely lagoon

I want him to know what I know,
This feeling in me, that only me knows,
If then, I could feel free,
I could forget that the world exists,
And just let go...

But only I know, and I know,
That I should not tell him so,
I know that this feeling in me,
I should just let it go...

written in the sky
is my name a star
blinking from afar

May be, I am this book on my lap?
the one I usually close to nap.
Then I awake to open it again
but its content makes no sense
Then it does, later, it does not...

May be, I am this pen on my hand?
The one I always seem to understand
whenever I write my ideas down.
It feels like we are fully synchronize
except when its ink runs out...

May be, I am the sofa where I sit?
The one that's quiet and usually doesn't quit
it keeps on holding someone else's weight
Until the weight becomes too much
And then it breaks...

May be, I am just a human like everyone else?
The one that's feels a certain way
but the way she feels
It's not justified by the way she lives
Yet still, she feels like this....

And she doesn't know

Why?

One thought can be good
While the other can be bad
And then, those thoughts fight,
Until one of them wins the battle...

But which thought might win
Which thought is it the good one?
Which thought is it the bad one?
How exactly are we to know?

I know both thoughts are fighting,
And not always the good one wins
it's until we see the end effects
That we can know which one was which one.

But is there a way, to actually identify which one is good?
And which one is bad?
How exactly are we to know?

I can think the bad one is good
And similarly,
I can think the good one is bad,
But is it that We have no way of telling one from which?

I know there must be a way,
But the way, I do not know,

I know that having proofs doesn't always
tell if someone is good
Or someone is bad
Because proofs can be made up

But how exactly should I know which one is which?
Though my instinct, or my intuition,
Or my intellect, or through them all?
I'm unsure...

I want to sip and sip from the wine of knowledge
And be drunk without worries
But I rather just want to sip and sip from the water of wisdom
And remain sober,
Until I become purify
Until I satiate my thirst to understand life
Until I feel hydrated with joy
Until I feel alive

I tried writing like I used to write
To find myself along the lines
But I find me a long time ago
And then when I did I stopped

As if I reached some stop sign
Or a red traffic light
And I stayed there
Until again, I started to write

But this time I got lost
I could not fun where I needed to go
Then I tried asking for directions
But it was just me
Lost in my own writes

So once again I ended up at the stoppe sign
But this time, I found you
And by finding you, I found me
I have no motive to get lost

Oh come forth, speak to me my Lord,
I need to hear your words,
For them to guide me to you world.
I need to hear your voice,
For me to follow you, my lord.

I'm just a woman dressed in shame.
Undress me, lord.
See my nakedness with innocence,
And cloth me, lord.
Enwrap me in your mantle of love.

And it is true, that if tomorrow
the oceans go dry
and the seas vaporize
like water in a pan,
I won't know how to react.

I might scream,
I might hear my aunt scream
I might see my grandma rush
to the stove.
I might see my mother
rush to my grandma.
I might see them spill water
from the faucet
onto the pan on fire
While I stand still

still watching how the world reacts
as the oceans go dry
as the seas vaporize
and there isn't a stove
nor water
to set the fire on Earth off.

It's a just a mess, a mess, my mom complains.
why can't you have it organize, cleaned?
I tried. I tried. I cleaned it. I organized it.
But it's always the same.
All I have it's clean clothes. No ***** clothes.
I left them in a chair. I tried to put them away.
I tried. I tried.
But It's so hard to find time to organized my mess.
I just accumulate them. I piled them up.
one by one, one after the other,
I'm sorry, I cannot find time to organized myself.

I'm such a mess.

Freedom is like writing sonnets
without having restrains
Just writing as if it were free verse

That's just what it is

managing to be your own self
despite following the every rule
that are imposed on yourself

If I was the shoe in your foot,
Who was the sock
that impeded us to touch skin with skin?
Who was that sock,
that received the stinks from your lips and absorbed all of the sweat
from your heated days?
Who was that sock,
That I have to thank?

Then do whatever boils your beans,
Do not ask me for a ***,
Nor for a stove,
Don't ask me for a flame,
I have all but clearly you want none

Go figure how to boil your beans
on your own

a kitten
cracking tears
on a chair

If you listen carefully, you will hear the waves:
come crashing at your feet
then ebb back to the ocean - in retreat.

With no will.
With no will.

And if you see carefully, you will see the waves:
rise up higher, in turmoil,
then be plain with the ocean - remain still.

With no will
With no will

And if you feel carefully, you will feel the waves:
wet your skin
then dry off

With no will
or so I believe

July 10, 2016

Water and the rocks,
Splish and splash, the river goes.
And there,
at the top of the mountain,
The moon hangs above the trees

like a boomerang
It comes and goes
As the night falls

Shh, Hear the waterfalls.
And there,
at the riverbank, a wolf howls.

Sometimes you wonder,
is this really what I am meant to do?
And no matter how much you ponder,
the answers don't seem to come to you.

It feels as if you are lost in time,
sitting in a chair in front of a computer,
just wondering and pondering about life,
As if by just thinking, you became a writer.

But a writer mustn't just think,
a writer mustn't just wonder and ponder,
a writer must also type what the writer thinks,
but also what the writer feels as it wonders and ponders.

Yes, it's a tricky thing to do,
To connect the wonders to the feelings
to wonder what to feel
and to feel what one wonders

And  yes, it's a tricky thing to do,
to ponder about wonders
to wonder how to ponder
and to ponder how to feel about what one wonders

It's really a tricky thing do,
to be able to express what one thinks
and what one feels,
without really wondering and pondering,
because ultimately, what one writes
shouldn't exactly be thought out.

it's meant to be filtered out of us.

be creative, they say
make sure your words are beautiful, they say,
poetry, it's about beauty, they say
it has to make you feel something, they say,

but hey!

poetry is thoughts.

that's it.

You are like the light that passes through my eyes
You are like the lenses that corrects my vision
And I would like to wear you every day,
And I would like to never remove you from my head
But everyone needs a space,
And from time to time, I just remove you as if you were my glasses,
And I place you in a safe place,
Where no one could harm you, nor hurt you, nor shatter you,
I just remove you...
I remove you from my head,
And I place you in my heart
to keep you safe

And I like that...

Oh mother gracious!
What is this?

----

I once had bliss!
But now?

----
Ah, spit. Spit!

----
You were like a dish set up on a table.
One that was meant to not be taste by me!

But oh dear goodness gracious!

---

Please. Spit. Spit!

----
for years,
I hungered for a little bite of you.
I indulged, and now,
Just look at me!

I am round like a circle
Circling the table
Biting
more
And
more
Of
You


I want to finish you till the last bite
but I also want for you to last forever more!

I want to be filled by you everyday,
But I don't want to ever feel completely full!


It's just that you are like this!
Some dish!


And now, all I want to do is

Spit. Spit!

Oh Nay!

I just want to eat.