How to make sure
That there is a measure
Between actualities
And the mind's fantasies?

How to make sure
When the caricature
Is more probable
Than the real trouble?

How to make sure
Of one's nature
Only in sentences
Without presence?

How to make sure
That one's kind gesture
Is not given to deceive,
But what you need to perceive?

How to make sure
That you will be treasured
For the way your brain twirls,
When you're a pretty pearl?

How to make sure
You aren't only for leisure
If you can't read
When they play or heed?

How to make sure
That under seizure,
You are held captive,
Even when unattractive?

How to make sure
Your every feature
Will be embraced
Even if you're crazed?

How to make sure
That the pressure
In the sender is equivalent
To that in the recipient?

How to make sure
That one's exposure
To a safe hydration
Won't lead to explosion?

How to make sure
That the only fracture
Happens when you break,
Not when you can still take?

How to make sure
Your preserved stature
Will only be buried
Once you're no longer carried?

How to make sure
For a future
If nothing will remain
But memory stains?

How to make sure
That the adventure
Is worth the cost
Of getting lost?

Electrons, making me feel like a *****.
Where the heck did ADP come from?
I don't even want to wonder why there suddenly is a phosphate group.
How come G3P wasn't a nickname when I was a sophomore?
Glycolysis was not a crisis,
And I understood Miss Minnie's drawings.
Now I have a book with 3D figures,
But cellular respiration was not who it was four years ago,
And I swear I've encountered all of them before,
But where did they all go?
I know their names but not who they are.
Honestly, I'd rather think fermentation occurs in a bar.

My communication skills ****,
How will I ever be able to earn a buck?
I could even lose to a duck.
What is wrong with me, ****.

Ana knows I can't be alone,
So she will mourn by my side,
While I count down
From the start
When...
Love lived a decade ago;
Calendar dated 10th century,
Top chest smeared with last millennium's dust and dried rose petals,
Bottom shelf stacked with the Recent epoch's chronicles in scrolls,
And I wrote this anecdote during the late Eocene,
But I am now an era old;
Too short of memory to remember fairytales,
Too outgrown to believe magic tricks or play a game of chance,
Too outworn to have my heartstrings plucked,
Too callous to bear a soft spot,
Too archaic to belong in any contemporary world,
Too ancient for a technological revolution.
Fixed in a period that won't age,
Absent of a timekeeper, missing every timepiece;
My antique mind couldn't only smarten up for
This relic of a body, camouflaging skin-deep among prototypes,
Preserving the fossils of my endangered heart.
Maybe one day a noble clocksmith will come
And build us a time machine.
Maybe I'll have my youth back
When Ana teleports back to Erin,
Where her misplaced soul will finally be home with the gods,
For I think I'd do fine without her anymore,
As I land inside a time capsule,
Or wake up as a hand-me-down,
In time at long last with today's pendulum clock.
I'd be lucky if it's the clocksmith who takes such artifact.
But until such time warp,
Ana knows I can't be alone,
So she will mourn by my side,
While I count down
From the start
When...

Three early birds broke the flying record today,
Under a ball of yellow light and sky of white cobwebs,
Uphill, amidst a godforsaken town,
At the far end of the deserted residential area,
In front of our binned and bagged house,
On the peach tiles of our topsy-turvy garage,
Inside a scroungy cardboard box,
Between the wasted space and rotten nest made of broom,
Where they left their bodies mushy and misshapen,
Where a colony of red ants now celebrate for a carrion feast.
They flew higher than any in their kind could ever reach,
That they went straight to heaven,
Early for their embellished feathers and wings,
Early for their final cartilages,
Early for their full-grown beak and claws,
Early for their black, beady eyes,
Early for their last rites,
Yet for us to forecast the bad news,
Yet for us to get off of our plastic chairs of indifference,
Yet for us to drop our glasses of lemon juice and inattention,
Yet for us to fumble outdoor and crash the ceremony,
Yet for us to solve the mystery,
Of whether the ball of yellow light radiated enough to fry,
That the three early birds had to fly the coop to oasis;
Of whether our mother's frenzy gave a cold welcome,
That the three early birds had to say goodbye when she tossed the box out;
Of whether I am to blame for yesterday's miracle
Of finding their home attached to the open bottom of our air-conditioner,
Which turned into a tragedy of a falling baby out of excitement,
That the three early birds felt like it was time to join their fourth sibling once again.
Indeed, too early
For the three siblings endowed with a mother and a father,
For mankind is blessed enough to have such a thing as family,
Who claimed the three early ones before the garbage does,
Who could've been proud parents in the future,
For witnessing the becoming of their three youngs
Who came out too soon,
Who were traceless of eggshells,
Who never knew a father,
Who were ****** enough to even be abandoned by a mother,
Who never knew if she even came back for them,
Who broke the flying record.
Indeed, too early.
After days of packing up sentiments,
Donating valuables,
Throwing away memories,
And leaving behind possessions,
I thought, for a moment,
We could save something
But we couldn't.

Can't we choose the air that coalesces with our blood?
Can't we decide the only time to let our lids shut and unlock?
Can't we pick the only lumps we want to sprout from our structures?
Can't we select the parts we would rather have blemished?
Can't we prohibit the leaky drops of saline our eyes secrete?
Or forbid our visage from exposing an out of control kaleidoscope?
Can't we stop our pumps from thrashing and throbbing and telling on us?
As well as command our malfunctioning extremities to quit giving away our state?
Can't we instead just bring out our insides without dissecting the outside?
Can't we just emit what we mean to sound off by just lip-syncing?
Can't we really do anything without a swad of nerves tell us no?
While having every stretch of muscle and vein say yes?
Can't we just...
Can't we really?

In the black sky, he glows like a falling star.
While on the ground, she stares from afar.
He flickers like fountains of meteor shower
And she can't help but to devour.

The clouds gave way upon his presence
And she was bedazzled by his luminescence.
His sparks are like shimmering asteroids;
Which, one by one, she desperately avoids.

The girl is Yin, and the boy is Yang.
When they collide, it'd be the Theory of Big Bang.
She's the color black, he's the color white.
They can't be combined, just like day and night.

Yin couldn't be heard even with her voice so loud.
While Yang, even the planets are proud.
He's the sun, she's the moon.
When they intertwine, it'd be the start of doom.

But alas, the constellations have connected
These two heavenly bodies by a thread.
There was no need for a North Star to be of guide,
For their lines are meant to coincide.

Neither did a black hole,
Nor did a nuclear fission divide them sole.
Just like saturn and its rings;
When he spins, she clings.

They're both from different galaxies,
With the same discrepancies.
Yet, they are in one circle in cosmology.
This is Yin and Yang's story.