Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
ji Jul 2015
I have always loved rains. The drizzle. The storm. The chilly air

Tonight it's a drizzle. I smile at the forlorn skies. And I'm reminded of the cold nights and your warm hugs and your kiss that burnt my cheek. And how the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof has always lulled me to sleep. How I wake up to your good morning the next day, and how your I miss you was my cup of coffee.

But today was different. This morning it's a storm. It rained so much I woke up to a soaked pillow. It rained so much I can't look at the skies to smile. So it grinned to me with the cold air, that you are mine no more and you weren't mine at all. And then I realized, maybe I don't like rains afterall.
ji Jul 2015
Once there was a maiden who has a gardener as her wooer. And the maiden love him too.

The maiden is affluent in money called Memories. And the gardener has flower bounties called Feelings he gives daily to the maiden. Every morning the gardener would knock on the maiden's door and hand her the most beautiful picks of Feelings his garden has. Some days it's a posy of 'I love you's'; or a nosegay of 'I miss you's'. Other days it's a wreath of 'kisses' and 'hugs'. But he knew what she likes best - it's the bouquet of the four. And every time, the maiden would insist to pay him with a Memory, but sweetly he would shake his head no.

Until one morning, she heard no knock on the door nor there were flowers on her porch. She waited and waited, but nothing came and he never arrived.

Days became weeks, there were no signs of the gardener still. The Feelings he gave her started to wilt, but many remain abloom.

"I wish the next time he knocks, he would hand me a bouquet of 'I love you's' with a coupling of 'I miss you's'," *she whispered between sighs.
"It's not my favorite arrangement, but those I favor among all."

And the skies seem to hear her wish. There were three gentle knocks on the door. She smiled and stood in front of it, wishing that it's really him. And it was.

But he had no bouquets in hand. No posies nor nosegays nor wreaths.


"There is a new damsel in town, and to her I chose to give the Feelings, but she don't seem to care," he explained. "My Feelings piled up on her lawn but she never opened the door."

He paused.

Then earnestly,
"My garden is bare of flowers, and I ran out of Feelings to give you," he continued. "But if you would allow, could you hand me a little Memory so I can restore my garden and offer you bouquets of Feelings again?"

*Then she gave him every Memory she has.
Someday I know you will run out of feelings for me. And maybe someday - to have it again - you'll return and ask for a memory. In case, my dear, just say. And I will give it all away.
ji Jul 2015
Once, it rained. I didn't understand why my mom hates it so much. As for me, I like the wet feet and drenched clothes, the raindrops kissing my head. Until one night, it rained so hard; the night was colder than any other. Then I started to understand why my mom dislikes it so. It didn't listen when I begged for it to stop...

for my pillow is soaked.
070515
ji Jun 2015
She was courtly,
Oh! Stately was she!

But woe to her! --
      the seller of love;
            seeker of empathy.

What more poorer than her a soul
         could be? --
                  A morsel of love for a penny.

What more colder
         than a night as hers--
                 To slumber in as if a hearse?

Oh, woe to her! --
      the seller of love;
           seeker of empathy.

And what more worse
       could a mishap be--
                Than feast in the banquet
                        of the ****** and the guilty?

How more cursed
        could a creature be--
                 Than thrive in another's lustful  
                          idolatry?

Oh, woe to her! --
      the seller of love;
            seeker of empathy.

She vends fondness
       she never can receive,
             forth with the saintdom
                      she ne'er can retrieve.

What other vying
         is greater than hers--
            To state the malison
                 of the welkin terse?

And she prays to the dimmest sky;
       to the starless horizon she cries,
           "Woe! -- woe is me! --
                     the seller of love;
                           seeker of empathy."
ji Jun 2015
If you must take it,          
take with it
my life for it is my.

If you must burn it,            
ashen my pen;
Scorch these leaves,        
leave none.

If you must choke it,          
strangle my neck 'stead;
for it and I are one

And if you must **** it --    
wither its words;
**** me - ****** - with gun.
ji Jun 2015
Ana
Eternal funeral for this beauty
       latently in a coffin sleeps,

With never a burial - she can't
             die even six-feet deep.
ji Jun 2015
My heart fell and sank deeply at the sight of you,
     like an anchor hurled into the sea.

And then you spoke and I'm reminded of the waves;

You're the sea and I'm a fish,
     the salty waters I long and crave.
You cast yourself in people's lives. Some swim, but you dive. Then you drown but don't die, and then you knew: even divers swim back ashore to survive.
Next page