The most beautiful thing I've ever read-
was a love poem that I found,
hidden between the dusty cupboards of my mother's room,
filled with things that just
"didn't matter"
anymore.

It was flooding with thoughts I waved off as-
"foolish"
with fake plastic vows of love,  
not unlike those crisp, shiny valentine heart rings,
only given to the most attractive every February.

Stories of parting,
from which shone a glossy sparkle like that of a fake glass diamond,
labeled with black numbers as something worth a thousand.
I've always thought that if you were going to leave someone, you should be aloof and cold.
If you make "warm memories", won't the parting just be that much harder?

That sunset that was described as being unrealistically
ethereal,
I tried to see it myself,
even hooking my feet around the cold metal bars of the balcony,
and pretending that I could fly.
But that sunset was fake too, I discovered.
A synonym of those medals that you eagerly await to get, but in the end,
aren't gold,
or silver,
but just a sheet of mocking plastic,
thousands of identical ones of which have been made,
in a factory choking on smog,
thousands of miles away,
in China.

There was always that villain,
who would try to break the lovers apart.
Sometimes,
the villain was described as, "dark", and "Irresistible".
I was puzzled by that fact,
mulling obsessively over the idea,
Why didn't the protagonist get with the villain in the end?

I was undeniably jealous, of the heroine,
who seemed to draw everyone to her with a warm light,
that I didn't seem to have, no matter how hard I tried.
She was a perfect damsel in distress,
waiting for her partner, who would always,
always,
without fail, come to save her from danger and the unknown.
They were both risking everything for what they loved.

"Stereotypical love poem,"
I scoff,
willing myself to throw that piece of paper away with the trash,
But-
to this day, the most beautiful thing I have read,
is that stereotypical love poem,
now tucked between two bookshelves,
which are full of things, that
"matter"
now.

Perfection,
is an illusion, created by the mocking
sanity of the people
in this newspaper world.

Fairytales were something made up as well-
for the entertainment of children,
to enjoy their life,
their innocence
before reality took it all away from them.

No matter how far I chased the rabbit,
I was not Alice in Wonderland.
And even though the glass slipper fit,
I was not Cinderella.

My Hogwarts letter didn't arrive either;
when I was eleven.

And foolishly, at that time,
I cried.
I cried because my dreams were not real,
and that something this good could not exist in this world.

But-
I do not regret crying.
I cried for everything little in the world-
For my broken pipe that would never shoot water out in a straight line-
For my microwave that would always keep the food cold,
and the refrigerator that would always keep the food warm,
and for the 'tap tap' of the lady's heels
from the apartment above mine.

People say that heaven is a beautiful place
full of anything you could ever imagine.
Would it have all my dreams there, then?
In a plastic goody-bag, prehaps.
A certain one dished out to every person-
Angels looking left and right without a care for identity.

I hate it when my phone gets too warm.
I hate it when my favorite books get wrinkled.
I hate it when I lose my wireless mouse.
I hate it when the internet takes too long to load.
I hate it when the tempature of the room is either too cold, or too hot for my liking.
But I love all those hatreds.
I love how my phone gets too warm, warming my hands up in winter.
I love how my favorite books get wrinkled, so I can lovingly patch them up again.
I love how my wireless mouse always gets lost, because then I have an exuse to buy a corded one.
I love how the internet takes too long to load, because then I can go eat while I'm waiting.
I love how the tempature gets too cold or too hot, because then I can stick an ice cube on my forehead, or bundle up with my favorite scarf in winter.

My mother always told me to be mysef, that I was perfect just the way I was-
I tried,
but all my sentences from that point on would come with a stutter.
"D-Did you hear?"

The voice of the piano that strums so gently beneath my fingers,
I love that sound.  
It was the first time I could be sure-
if music had a face
it would smile,
teasingly,
desparingly,
at me.

And now I'm listening to "Light up the Sky" by YellowCard,
lying on my bed and thinking how much the lead singer
looks like Draco Malfoy.

I love the way poetry sometimes has a shape,
either a diamond,
or a heart.
And I am stunned, when I see those-
In fact, I saw one yesterday,
it was a tiger,
coliling around spairled trendles of
black and white
words.

I wonder how words move people to tears.
they're just words, anyway.
Nothing that would exist if humans weren't here.
but I love the way that I can actually cry
when I hear a beautiful piece of poetry.
I would say 'thank you thank you'
over and over again,
but I couldn't speak for the sound in my head.

And the stereotypical, rentless movies,
on sale-
half price!
at BlockBuster,
I bought them all,
just for the sake of spending some money,
I think.

And I watched them all, alone in the night with nothing but a bowl of popcorn by my side.
They were colorful, crazy, wild
And I drank in that feeling, throwing up my arms
with a freedom that I have never felt before.

I love writing poetry,
because words are truly beautiful.
And I love reading over my old poems, and scoffing at what I thought was eloquent before.
Because that means,
I have grown.
Something Infallible, Like Eternity,
That's a good title.
I love the clicking of keyboard keys, feeling the notch of F and J under my fingers.

And I love this world,
for all its imperfections and mistakes,
becuase then there can always be something better after it.
After all, if you're at the top, all you can do is fall.

Before I saw you,
I thought that angels didn't exist.
Before I saw you,
I thought that hope was just a empty word, with a meaning that was ripped out of the dictionary in my mind.
Before I saw you,
I was lost, confused, wandering off the road that everyone at least, seemed to be on,
Seemed to know what a road was,
Even if they were on the "wrong one" as my preschool teacher used to call it but I think I was the only one who raised my hand in class and said-
"Teacher! That doesn't make sense!"
Before I saw you,
Music was just notes on paper,
Something for me to hum and string along on the viola.
Before I saw you, stories were just stories,
And not keys to worlds beyond my fairest imagination.
Before I saw you,
The key to the word "love" was locked
Thrown somewhere on a ***** train track that you fearlessly went on and saw and you brought the key back to me saying with a smile on your smudged face
"Here. I think this is yours."
Before I saw you,
I think I was just living life for the sake of living, just eating for the sake of surviving,
Just studying for the sake of pride,
Until I met you.
When I met you,
The world had color.
A fierce rouge for sunset and lipstick for women
a dark hue that wasn't exactly "black as night" as they called it
A gleaming, neon green that was the color of the hideous jumpsuit you wore for track just once
When I met you,
The word myself had a different meaning, and the broken dictionary that was in my mind fell apart.
When I met you,
I learned the meaning of catching all the Pokémon in the game Pokémon Emerald that I always borrowed, but never returned, but you didn't care, did you?
(Oh look the word Pokémon is in spell-check)
When I met you-
I learned how to write poems-
Mainly because you dragged me to that poetry writing class that you always went to.
When I met you,
I thought, beautiful
Infallible
Unbreakable
**Until the day when you left me
Here alone in the dark.

I never really believed in the concept called soulmates.
Sure, I could say that I believed in true love.
But to say both are the same,
would be a lie to my ears.

But you-
were different, somehow, entirely.
The moment I met you, there was a frantic beating to my heart,
the muscle that had stayed dormant, hibernating for years.
Sometime around then, the exact time I still don't know,
I accepted that ideal of near foolishness,
awkwardly holding it like a hot ember,
crackling with the fading glow of silver fireflies.

And it seemed like you knew too,
spluttering and grinning while food was stuck to your face,
three years ago.

...And I wonder, if we were both born sixty years from now,
across the far continent, would we know?

"Do you believe in the afterlife?" I asked you, one day-
You thought deeply for a moment; clutching twisted pieces of grass to your hands.
No, you replied finally. It seems to be something created in this life for wishful thinking.
You, were always optimistic.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Even in a less than fifty percent rating, you just waved it off with a grin.
So that answer, surprised me,
to the bowels of my heart.

If the heart was a maze, there would be tunnels in mine,
which were too dark even to see with a melted torch.
But yours-
was the exact white, to my black.
It was so light-
that a person would not see,
but shield their eyes instead,
from that burning ray.

Happiness is so frightening,
because there's always a withering darkness,
wavering nearby to take over.

"You have leukemia."
the doctor told you professionally,
quietly.
the moment those words were said,
you looked gently surprised,
but almost completely detached, as if you knew it all
along.
"Okay." You said those words with a smile
that only I knew was shaky.
"I'm scared."
"Don't leave me."
"Will I die?"
You, who'd been strong for me through everything,
broke down crying for the second time.
In that pressurized space,
it was as if
my conjecture of despair had been confirmed.
Hardship..
sorrow..
during such times, what was I to do?

And sometimes, I would wake up crying. I didn't know anymore weather I was sad or not-
it was too dim to remember.
Because I wished that dreams were reality, and this reality was a dream,
maybe that was the reason.
But it wasn't because I was sad, I think.
When you return from a happy dream to a desperate reality,
there's a chasm that you have to step across,
one that you can't cross without shedding tears.

All your fears became reality.
Your hair started falling out,
You couldn't hold back vomiting, even in front of me.
I cursed how powerless I was.

Finally, you broke down.
"I want to die." that voice that I loved was a mere whisper, quiet against the rustle of hospital bed sheets.
"You don't really want that." Foolishly, I took it as a joke.
You screamed.
"I know the truth! I'm not going to get better! I'm tired of you being so optimistic! I'm just tired of it all!
I never want to see you again!"
Those words stung me, straight into a dark circus of my mind.
And the world, which I thought was perfect as long as you were there, broke down.
"I love you!" That was the first time.
"I love you." The second.
I loved you.
I loved you.
I loved you.
And that emotion hurt, so much.

And I thought, what we needed the most, was to believe that there was hope,
somewhere in the world.
"Let's go to Australia."
And you, who held back for everything,
broke down crying, for the third and final time.
"Yes."  

And little by little, I planned our wonderful trip to Australia.
And after everything was set..
I didn't want to cry.
I refused to look at the darkness.
And pretending that it was not there,
was enough to keep me propelling forward.

And on the train, we shared a cake,
because it was your birthday.
And we laughed for the first time in a while,
hoping that that moment could go on for eternity.
"It's like a dream..to be here with you." You murmered against my shoulder.
"It's not a dream. We'll be together forever."
Forever, however, is endless,
spiraling along with the stars of the galaxy,
and I listened to your voice as we dozed off.

"Did you know that I read a book about aborigines? It said something about how the world is perfect and doesn't lack anything.
After I read it, I thought if there was such a thing like heaven, it might already be in this world.
It's kind of hard to explain..
We don't know what heaven is because we don't have enough understanding.
I mean, people lose each other, even when alive.
It's definitely not easy to find someone after death.
but, you can always search for me.
No matter how many times you lose me.
That's why I'm doing okay."

I wonder why I hoped that that train would go on forever,
without ever reaching a destination.
"Please keep looking for me. I'll always be here."
And a cool pair of lips brushed against my forehead,
sealing that pact.

Suddenly, blood started dripping from your nose,
landing on the cold train station floor,
spots of red and ruby.
You started coughing, hacking.
I ran, as far as my legs would take me.
When I got back-
you were collapsed.
Cold.
Still.
On the floor.
Shouting shapeless words, I ran to your side.
And in that moment, I remember thinking-
Why? Why us?!

And I kept telling myself, over and over again,
not to cry. I felt like if I cried, even the tiniest hope, would crumble to pieces.
And even though I knew from the beginning that there was no hope,
I could not come to grips with it.
i was in the darkness all along.
I was filled with resentment, and remorse.
I cried the whole time

You can come in now.
The voice of the nurse was monotone. How many times has she had to do this before?
When I saw you, I thought-
that person in white,
surrounded by plastic,
that person who's dying,
is that really you?
was that real?

But I understood,
that it was real.
There seemed to be a faint film over everything,
surrounded by sandwich wrap.
It was ridiclous.
At that moment, I felt hatred towards everything.
I even felt resentment towards you,
who would leave me.
"Please..please don't hate me."
You shook your head, looking too dry for tears.
"I love you." That was the third and final time.  
"Forever and always."

"Ah..where are you? I can't see.." You groped blindly with your hand, eyes half-closed.
I clutched it tightly to my side.
"I'm here, I'm here!"
---
---
"Good." Your eyes closed at that, sliding shut with a gentle click.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, but could not make a sound.
Why?
At that time, I wondered.
Who was hurting more?
---
---
The ashes scattered in the wind, flying away along the current lines.
And in that moment I realized..
I was born one week after you.
I had never lived in a world where you weren't there.

It's ten years later.
Can you still see me?
Those precious people that we talk about,
we have to take care not to lose them in this vast world of ours.
And another precious person,
who I love almost as dearly as you,
has not taken the place that you so carefully inhabited,
but has stretched out my heart,
making room
for more.

*Thank you for everything.

K-------:

I thought of you again,

yesterday.

Staring out at the window that was coated with a fine screen of early dew; trickling down the cold glass-

somehow, I thought-

Maybe, if I touch it-

I'll see your face again.



There have been times, I admit, when we both fought.

For the sake of my childish superiority-

you went along with a gentle smile on your face.

Where we both swore not to talk,

when I ignored you with a foolish and triumphant stubbornness,

You just laughed quietly and held my hand.  

I always thought-

Someone who makes you laugh that hard-

who makes you smile so much that your face might freeze that way-

Surely they get the benefit of doubt, right?



Hey, you know?

You gave my pathetic life meaning.

The soft angelic light that glowed in the room shone,

only for you.

Once, we both had a beautiful dream of an eternal forever.

Where did that naïve hope go?

"We'll be together forever."

Linking pinkies together and running out into that dark street, we laughed like there was no tomorrow.

I wanted to make that time sincere-

Because, you, who had grown up already, knew-

anyone can just string painful words along and slap on a label called emotion.



"I realized yesterday,"

You began, sighing.

"Even if you pick up the fallen petals, that beautiful flower will never bloom again."

You duck your head against the cold winter air.

That small death on your hands-has your time frozen still?



The sky glowed through the trees with a soft light-

laughing for all the eternity that cried.



When we both danced to that Tarantella of separation.

Now I can't stop wondering-

If I hadn't pretended to be strong, would everything have been fine?



You gave me a silver ring, remember?

When you did, I felt like I had everything in the world.

But somehow-did you know that you weren't coming back?

Is that why you smiled so sadly?



And that story that we listened to-

Me laughing along in the bright sun-

You quietly humming with a smile-

We still laughed together, yeah?

At that moment, I thought-

This kind of happiness should be illegal.

You made the world round, so that no one would cry in a corner, didn't you?

And even now, you lament tearfully that there's nothing that you can do anymore.



My head resting on the corner of your bed, I closed my eyes.

"I used to believe that crying was only for the weak, and that only the strong could survive."

In a voice that was faintly above a shimmering murmur,

Your hand shakily ghosted the top of my hair.



Those brilliant red ribbons that marked our time together-

have become dull and faded now.



Now, ten years later, I grab my coat and run to the promised spot.

You were not there.

Panting, I tried to smile.

The things that had hurt me to much in the past seem childish now.

Is this what it means to grow up?

A mother who listens to soft classical Mozart
Reclined against the soft, worn pillow from ages
slender fingers easily flicking through a catalog,
while a father is hunched over
in the cold den, racked with coughs and pains, trembling fingers trying to hold on to the metallic foil of medicine.
And a child, barely 4
playing with stuffed animals on the couch
a victim of Tay Sach

A car, and a windowpane, that have both seen too much,
ragged advertisements fluttering in the wind,
advertising a movie coming out yesterday,
A burger shop ad that had already long closed,
and deals long gone.
The downtown urban forest, turned into a junkyard
full of scraps of rusted silver and infected bronze.

A bystander who can do nothing but laugh
as a boy's nose gets crushed in,
a ****** lip,
A swollen, purple eye
A boy of 18
who is still waiting for her somewhere
to see her colored smile
and eyes of glass
bitter and emotionless, glazed over with sterling silver,
who has a family, siblings,
who is now turned into nothing but a ragged playtoy for the sick, sick entertainment of others

A broken air conditioner that can do nothing but clack clack clack over and over again, metal blades spinning vainly for nothing,
while a broken family is screaming in the other room,
and a child is crying, hands to his face, covering his eyes
as a father hits his wife, knocks her against the sharp, tiled kitchen counter,
and the screaming intensifies, accompied by the hurtful insults that are thrown at each other-by the father and the teen.
and still the air conditioner goes on and on
oblivious to nothing.

A world that is so breathtaking and cruel at the same time
where little, insignificant families are torn apart without a second thought,
where the 'strong' prey on the 'weak'
Where the most beautiful sprawling cities turn into rejected second handers just because of a rumor
And,
A mother who listens to soft classical Mozart
Reclined against the soft, worn pillow from ages, ages ago
full of tears and stiches  
slender fingers easily flicking through a catalog, searching for the most effective medicine, eyes flickering in worry
while a father is hunched over
in the cold den because
he doesn't want to risk spreading his sickness to anyone else
racked with coughs and pains, trembling fingers trying to hold on to the metallic foil of medicine.
Working hard to support his family because the economy is going down again
And a child, barely 4
playing with stuffed animals on the couch
a victim of Tay Sach,
dead at 6.

Today I got a new sketchbook with an embossed leaf on the cover-
saying-"Nature's Best."
And the inside was so white and clean
I was scared to draw in it
to mar the beautiful pages with the unforgiving
mark of a pencil.
Thinking that I wasn't worthy enough,
I didn't deserve
"Nature's Best."

The most beautiful song I've ever heard was sung by a German Choir,
and I remember thinking-
that maybe, German is a beautiful language after all
hidden only under the angry tones
of fighting and ugly
hurtful words.
Vogel im Kaff, it was called.
I'm not sure, but when I used Google translate-
it said-
"Word not found."
Maybe it wasn't in German after all.

And the people who tell me-
"Ugly."
"Fat."
"Why do you even live, anyway?
It's not like you deserve it."
I know. I know that I'm not worth anything
But sometimes, I actually catch myself in the mirror and think-
I look nice
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for thinking that. I'm sorry for hoping,
for believing.
I'm sorry.

And you know that feeling?
When you're in public
frantically searching for the right chord
on a piano song.
Sitting a spotlight undeserved
Playing for people who don't need to hear this
"music"
Like cracking open a egg and accidently mixing the yolk with the white
when you're trying to make a crème cake.
A desperate feeling that's sort of scary
because your brain knows that there's no way out.
I wish all minds had a delete button.

Throwing myself into learning different languages-
I thought that if I could speak
German, French, Italian-
then I would be exalted.
That somehow,
all of that would change my personality,
Who I was.
Guess we all have a "no refund" tag when we're born.

The type of people who-
"Belong everywhere, but don't fit in"
and the type who
"Don't belong anywhere-but fit in anyway-"
Which type am I?
A leafed page of the book,
folded over to conceal ***** words.

You know, if you look at a picture long enough,
what you once thought was beautiful will begin to peel and fade
exposing its unperfected innards.
If it's that scary to look at something already "satisfying"
what would it be like to look at something not even close to perfection?

That back that was turned towards me then could very well have been my very own.
The only difference was my conniving and cowardly nature;
for I understood the importance of people despite their pity or hypocrisy.
Because of that,
I never had the courage to give that warmth up, no matter now pathetic or miserable I had to be to hold on to it.

Everytime someone got to close,
I would back away, going into that dark place that I set apart,
just for the sake of my independence.
If I let someone change that fact,
it would mean the end,
of the life that revolved around me and me alone.
That's why I have to run.

But, all the same
Don't you think that risking everything on one single person
is too terrifying?
I know about those nights where for no reason, you can't fall asleep..
when you're left all alone with nothing but an empty cup of distilled water.
I know about the emptiness that you can't escape,
that eats away at you, making you feel like you have no one else in the world.
But even so, you have "yourself", and I gave that to you.

For some reason, I thought about it whenever I'd lose all hope.
"I'll wait for you!"
It may have been but a sweet delusion..
but that made it possible for me to believe that I am not alone in this world.

It was a hypocrisy.
It was a lie.
All I had to do was close my eyes and take one step after another.
Why couldn't I do that?
Why is living such a scary thing to do?

There is an empty cage,
I concluded without a tint of regret.
Waiting for me in the afterlife.
For I, and no one else.
If everyone fits together like a puzzle,
maybe I'm a piece on the edge,
with a jagged, broken corner.
No piece would fit,
even if forcibly bent.

Back then, I should've run.
I should've continued walking on that isolated road,
and never looked back.
It was true that at that time, I wasn't strong enough to pull away.
But that magnetic tug of our downfall, that fact called curiosity,
led me to that parodic magic of fruit;
hanging on a half-dead tree.
*What does it taste like?

You, who for some infallible reason, was weeping, said-
"You are lying, and that makes me sad."
"But I never told you a single lie."
As soon as I said that, you started crying once more.

I used to reassure myself,
When the paper airplane that I threw-
Full of my foolish whishes that seemed so beautiful at that time-
that didn't reach the sky, but instead
came back down to my feet-
"It was just too far away.
That's all.
That's all."

And-
there was a time when I climbed the side of a radio tower,
repeating desperately to myself that the stars up there were not a myth.
At the top,
overlooking the city,
I tired to reach those lights.
"..I'm just not tall enough."

Now,
I think to myself,
my beliefs are just a mirror,
Reflecting my repeating delusions of a perfect world.
But when that mirror,
that sick fantasy,
that desperate,
oblivious
illusion shatters-
There is nothing but shards of dust left on your palms.

Did you know?
I am scared of the moon.
Mainly,
because I think, sometimes,
"That could be me, up there."
With no light of my own to shine upon the world, only reflecting what others saw.  
But, still.
The sun's warmth was too brilliant and bright,
my pupils couldn't help but dilute every time I faced it.

I've almost given up on the exuseful theory,
that everything in the world is masked
beautifully.
And that only the gifted,
and few,
could unveil that ugly screen,
and see the true façade underneath.

Until I have found a warmth untriumpthed by any other,
until I find a kindness that lets me say-
"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you-"
Over and Over and Over again,
Until I find a feeling that makes me feel like the world,
is somehow,
sometimes,
beautiful,
I guess,
I'll try to stop making excuses for everything-
and accept the fact
that the world
has its secrets too.

I've only written poems about love.
Most of them-
filled with angst, overflowing
not unlike
a flooded river,
maybe the Nile
in spring.

I don't really use lipstick,
or mascara for that matter,
because makeup,
is just something to hide behind
a shield that people are trying to cast off
every day.

writing a poem without inspration is like
trying to describe a chocolate eclair
without taste buds.
Maybe that's why
this is so hard to write.

But I had pleaded for another wish,
on a birthday candle, one day in May
Blowing the little flame out,
I rode my hopes on that little spark,
making sure that there were no embers left in the ashes.
Maybe I missed one,
I'm not sure-
because that wish still hadn't come true, to today.

The voice of an aucostic guitar strums into my ear
my only comfort
against this dismal highway.
And my earbuds are unbalanced
the right one louder then the left
and no matter how much I tilt my head
it's still uneven

Someone once told me
"Tears taste like the ocean"
that same person wiped away those tears, brusquely saying,
"Don't cry. I don't want you falling asleep tomorrow."
I held that as an act of kindness,
one of the few close to my heart.

The taste of coffee is too **** bitter.
Yet I crave it,
holding its warmth against my hands
and blowing the excess steam off.
Starbucks, in winter.

When flipping through paintings of angles and demons, I wondered
do angles really have halos?
do devils really have horns?
Who created the idea of supernatural creatures, at all?
"Superstitious freak" I mutter, slamming the book shut
and getting up to get another book
called
Lord of the Flies

The blinking crusor and the white screen that's staring at me right now
4:45 a.m in the morning
I couldn't sleep.
So I check my email-
it says
You have no messages.
For some strange reason, that's always the time when I feel the most alone.

I wonder
if people these days would ever write something,
just for their own benifit, and not for the lust of getting reviews
or compliments
of others.
I'm a filthy hypocrite, and I embrace that fact,
writing pointless stories just for the sake of getting compliments,
telling me
"You're worth it"
and
*"amazing."

Something without a definition, I guess,
is one of the most curious things about this world.

Something that isn't in the dictionary of words that overwhelm and pour
over and over and over again
in your mind, like a water spout
cannot be stopped sometimes-
You just have to accept that

It's amazing, really.
How many words that you cannot simply "define"
Like 'sweet' 'salty'
and
'sadness'
words that are in your brain, but no matter how you dig and uproot the word
it's not there anymore.

Leaves, trees, and infallible, useless things
they all make up the world as we know it,
millions of little things upon little things
sugar crumbles and salt sprinkles
upon salty and sweet caramel sundaes.

I used to think that I didn't need anyone.
I used to think that I could be complete, alone.
Trying to shut my eyes to the frozen shards in my heart-
Will I become blind?

But-I was lonely.
I was sad.
I wanted to try, even once-
what it felt like, what love was.
I was always by myself, watching from an overreaching balcony as society passed by.
I swore that I would be complete alone,
But my body refused to accept that fact.

The sunset that I saw was stunning, that's for certain,
but to call it love,
would be a disgrace, wouldn't it?

I've always wanted to tell a special person,
who've I've been gasping for on that painfully cold winter night-
huddled up like that-
"I'll never go back to that cold world again."

And, sometimes, sitting on the window rail,
I wonder.
Is love warm?
Is love bitter?
Stunning?
Is it beautiful-
or is it different for every heart?

"And,
let's go exploring.
If it rains, let's play a game."
Such times
were meant to go on forever,
really.

But-
to be honest, I am scared of love.
That frightening concept of brutal heartbreak and
dangerous happiness,
do I deserve such things?

When my heart finally stops beating-
I want to leave,
knowing that I was truly happy.

Until the time I can no longer be myself
I wonder just how many times I can still say "I love you" and not cry.  
So let me be grateful for the fact that I can be here-
Thank you, simply for the fact that I'm alive.

With no one here, will the world wither?
Who is left-
Will they say the world's final confession?

And I wonder,                                       
when I meet the destined person, will I know?                                          
I guess, to make sure, I won't let go of anyone.

I've always wished for spring.
Because I was so afraid of that cold world, covered in white-
I curled up in a tight ball,
huddled against the raging sleet,
I never took a good look at it.
The soft snowflakes falling silently,
The beautiful forest that was as beautiful as a white lily-
If you have a special person to share it with,
I think-
This white world can be inexpressibly beautiful.

Her smile is beautiful
but it trembles ever so slightly
so that you can hardly see it
an autumn leaf, in the middle of fall
deciding whether or not to break from the branch

Her laugh is tentative
deciding whether or not to really let go
and her laugh is shaky
a small accidental vibrato in her throat
that catches its tremor ever so slightly


And her words wash over you,
accompanied by the cool breath of Altoids
and a leaf of the iceberg salad that she had for lunch
(no dressing please)

When she walks into a room
the air stills
not because she holds presence,
but merely because she lacks it
a rippling shadow that's gray and silver
against the dark ebony of the chalkboard

Her shoulders are ***** and upright
stiff and still
like a solider's stance
when standing at 'attention' in the middle of a battle
with the same dead expression
of seeing too much
that you want to go blind because of that
with the same stiff arms
that grip a pencil tightly
so that the whites of her knuckles are prominent and jutting
and you fear that the wood will snap under her detached temper


But her tears are not beautiful
because frankly,
sadness is not beautiful in itself
when it's on the page that you're reading
further ahead, maybe
but not in the present

And this is a girl who strives to be normal
without even looking up the definition
who eats skimpy iceberg salads at lunch with friends who all

have pizza and fries  
who constantly buys Altoids so frequently that she has a whole

box in her room full of empty tins
who is more aware of herself than anyone else
and this is a girl
who is insecure
A girl who loves without return
A girl who can laugh and cry and be just fine the next day
A girl who swears on a god that she doesn't necessarily believe
A girl who feels something when a boy smiles at her just the right way
A girl who is you

I wanted to believe.
Thinking that everything that I doubted was for the sake of my useless, worrying mind-
Even though I had a feeling-
That those beautiful days would end-
Decorated with the soft sprinkles of everlasting snow-
Topped with a little light happiness,
I thought and wished that those days would go on forever.
I wanted to think that you were being truthful,
To have no doubt for you-
Even though I had a feeling that you were going to leave me.

Flying into the dark abyss, eyes closed just like a fool’s
The soft sound of sighs pass me
And I can do nothing but try to touch them

The bitterness of coffee is too cruel
For my taste buds,
And I always have to add spoonfuls of sugar, upon sugar,
While you look on, laughing.

Those broken shards of glass falling
I am ashamed to say that too scared for myself,
I didn’t pick them up,
Didn’t rebuild them into what it was rewinded
Running together, the earbuds in my ear kept falling off until you
Told me that it would be easier
To get headphones instead.
Going to store together,
And shopping
Those times were meant to go on forever, really.

That time in winter
Where we lay together in front of the fireplace
Silent, together
I remember thinking-
If this is all, it’s enough.

When you, with nothing but a sad look
Fell off the cliff of sanity
I could do nothing but cry.
Cry useless tears
To bring back the past that would never come back.
Why am I so alone?

How did I not know?
The screams that those silent eyes held-the little spark of pleading and worry in those conflicted pupils-
How did I, so good at reading people, not read you?
It is as if the radio station changed,
Into a different FM, not available in this country.
Why can’t I tune in?
Why are your screams silent?
Is the mute button on?
*If so, where is the volume control?

Ode to Sky

Ode to a person who was always smiling,

Even though they weren’t happy.



Ode to a person who I loved, who helped me through my nights,

Even though it was their last sun.



Ode to a smiling figure on the cliff, who laughed until their dying day.



Ode to a graceful hand that pulled me out,

That showed me who I was,

And who I was meant to be.



Ode to the memories that haven’t slipped away,

Still locked inside my heart,

With the face of an angel,

A shattered eye,

A broken mirror.



Ode to the happiness that was spread without a second thought,

Only for you to look down and say, “Oh, there’s no more.”



Ode to your gentle fingers,

Your sweet smile,

Awkwardly tying,

The red ribbon,

In my hair.



Ode to heart, that I couldn’t realize, until too late,

Was broken.



Ode to a house, in which lived a picture perfect family,

That was shattered, far too soon.



Ode to someone that I looked up and ran to,

A person who I strived to be like, a person who didn’t care for themselves,

A person…who hated their destiny and everything in it.



Ode to thoughts,

That allow me to keep going, even though there was no destination.

That never let me break down, because your memory didn’t let me.



Ode to a world,

Where perfection was considered a necessity,

A world…that destroyed you.

If you were born in another universe, would you have been happy?



Ode to a ocean,

That waxes and wanes, not caring  at all,

That you’re gone.



Ode to me,

Reaching to your hand, but only finding air,

To hold.



Ode to a bird,

Flying above, and me, lying there on the grass,

Wondering if you’re finally free.



Ode to a happy day,

When we were eating ice cream together,

Sweating and laughing in the sunshine.



Ode to this ode, that allows me to finally cry,

On paper.

"Who would you die for?"
Those words echoed across a sunny sky.
You stutter and fidget-
for a while.
Break the silence-
I smiled a fake grin and laugh.
"Just kidding!" Your expression turns pathetically relieved.
I love you too much to make you choose.
Do you know, though, that I,
would die for you?

My thoughts turn to a wrinkled, yellow poem.
"If only, if only, the woodpecker sighed-"
The world does not spin righted as before, does it?

What if everyone could be reborn again?
Would they chose the same fate?
Would they choose the same people who made them laugh-
so happily-
before?
A world filled with only happiness-
that is a fool's dream.

You once held my hand and said, "I'll stay until you find happiness."
But didn't you know?
The first time I felt true happiness was the moment I met you.
I swore to lock that memory in my chest,
selefishly binding you here.

How many times have I sinned?
When did I first ***** my hands with soot?

The beautiful mask I so carefully carved-
Has been so easily cracked by your gentle fingers.

No matter how much you want something for the future,
things set in stone will never change.

The pure vows we took-
has been ripped like spider silk by my hands alone.

The pure vows we stained-
are just more strings for me to puppeteer.

Those pure black vows have flown away in the infinte,
never
to
come
back.

One headphone in.
Hum and sing.
Tilt head back-breathe in air.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Breathe.
Change song-
Reach for bag.
Don’t shake.
Be strong.
Yeah, right.
Tears falling-flow-
Stop.
Wipe them away.
Freeze.
Door opens.
Stop crying, god ******!
“M_?”
Fingers tremble.
You’re pathetic.
“Need help?”
Shake head.
Yes.
“…Let me open the window for you.”
Blink.
Sit down.
Chair creaks.
“Must be boring being stuck in the hospital for so long.”
Force smile.
“I would be bored to death if it were me.”
Awkward laugh.
What the hell do you know?
“So..I brought some flowers.”
Shrug.
Thank you.
Look around.
“Wow..this room reminds me of-“
Stop talking.
“One day, you and me will-“
I don’t care anymore.
“Hey-“
LEAVE ME ALONE!
“You know, I had this dream last night-“
So did I.
“I dreamed-“
What would my eternity be?
“You and me together-“
Is that it?
Sigh.
Lean back in chair.
“You know, people said that pain made you stronger.”
Close eyes.
Don’t react.
“What do you think?”
No.
“Why?”
…Who the hell says that pain makes you stronger? Pain will **** you, consume you, spit you out until there’s nothing left but ashes. That’s just a piece of *******-
“Don’t look so sad.”
Scoff.
“There are people out there who really love you.”
Lies.
“…If you want to cry, go ahead and cry.”
Silence.
Silvery wetness at the eyes-
Why are you crying?
“It- it- I can’t stand that- that-“
Sniffle.
“You’re holding all your pain in-
you can’t-
can’t let it go at all....."
Gasp.
"That’s why-
If you don’t cry-
I’ll cry in your place.
I’ll cry for you!”
Soft smile.
Idiot. I’m crying too.
“I’ll cry-“
For you.
*But..don’t you think that a smile is a more beautiful expression?

Since I don't know if we'll ever meet again-
I guess
that we'll try to stay together
forever.

"I'll tell you someday."
Laughing and sticking your tongue out,
teasing me,
you were the most beautiful then.
But-
When is that someday?
A link in the far distant future;
without any promise
or solidity.

Your back is growing fainter,
more distant,
vaguer,
quieter,
it's almost transparent now.

The fact that no matter how long my fingers were;
How much I grew;
How much I learned;
How much I matured-
The fact
that I could still not reach or touch you
or your standard;
I could do nothing
but slump to the floor,
Admit painful defeat-
And cry.  

The Villain-
was me.
The one who ran away-
was me.
It was no lie,
For I am
the true deceiver.

And
I say to the plaster
peeling wall-
"I'm Sorry."
Uselessly,
Meaninglessly,
inutility,
I just sit there
in a wooden, peeling
chair;
Wondering.

The Characters that I wrote then-
They don't dance for me anymore.
"Is that so?"
The poems that I scribbled-
on a napkin at a fast food restaurant,
Where are they now?
"Who knows?"
My memories and limits-
Are they gone?
"Why don't you figure out yourself?
Isn't the person,
who knows you best-
yourself?"  
--
--
--
I'm sorry-
My light was gone.
I'm Sorry-
My head wasn't thinking straight.
I'm Sorry-
I let go.
What kind of excuses are these?

For being a coward,
For being a shallow person
who didn't see the world-
Sorry doesn't even take up half of it.

The beginning of the end,
tell me,
when does that time come?

The promise that our naïve selves made together
"Forever, Eternally,"
You believed in those words.
For crushing your morals,
For mocking them,
For taking away your innocence-
"Forgive me."

I've always thought that the world was only in black and white,
and that the people who saw "shades of gray, or black," were the ones who knew nothing.

Maybe I was born with a blindfold.
Maybe that's why I saw nothing.
Perhaps I was just afraid of thinking that there were that many possibilities in the world,
and having to chose one of a million-
it's scary, you know?

There are people who say-
"Don't feel like you have limitations."
Truthfully,
I prefer-
"The Sky's the limit."
Because then I can tell myself,
"It's okay. You don't have to go on forever."

What are the differences between human and machines?
My belief was-if you looked through the dead lens of a robot-
then you would see the opacity of the world, splattered along the melted colors of a chessboard.

Even if I did believe in "colors",
people who think that they can create something "new"
I would say,
"Why are you mixing them together?"
*Isn't that just the same definition?

There is a gentle yellow light,
for all eternity that cried.
Walk upon the dew soaked grass,
along the light of the breathing sunset.
Anyone can string powerful words together and slap on a label called emotion.

You walk slowly with me, shoulder tight against the cold light.
A quiver of fate chills the empty air.
There is nothing left.

"I realized yesterday,"
You begin, sighing.
Walk quietly, heard by none.
"Even if you pick up the fallen petals,
they'll never bloom back into that beautiful flower."
Duck your head down, breathe in the frozen air.
That small death on your hands, is your time frozen still?

You turn sharply, walk back on that paved path.
Your back is always to me,
even now.
......
.....Don't follow.
Don't cry.
There is a memory..that echoes in my head like a half-forgotten song.
Once, we both had a dream of an eternal forever.
Where did that childish happiness go?
The cold air transforms your breath to warm, small clouds.

What does it mean to "grow up"?
Is it when you stop believing in fairytales?
Or is it when you accept the contract of reality?
Turn around, quietly.
Your back is still to me,
your face bowed, in defeat or weariness, I do not know.

Walking further, and further,
away.
Turn back.
Continue.
Smile sadly,
"Trusting that someone will always be there for you..."
Tilt your head up to the sky.
*only fools think that way.

A cashier in aisle 23, Lane 4,
Hair pulled back into an ***** bun, flyaway strands of hair framing her face,
Eyes adorned by shaky eyeliner, (It must've taken her years)
The hands that grab the groceries are trembling
with the use of age and alcohol,
Still wishing at 30 for that Prince Charming who ran away with another princess,
Still wishing she could be somewhere else in life.
And you thank god that you are not like that cashier, a slight feeling of guilt twisting your chest
as you walk away to the car.

You don't know what the hell Lady Gaga's lips look like, (or care)
but if someone said that your lips looked like her,
it would be the first priority to see what they looked like
Seeing if your lips would fit the 'standard' of society,
40% acquired self obsession and 100% U s e l e s s E f f o r t


A father who thinks that winning is the minimum requirement
A mother whose vision of a perfect child is to be of metric height and square body weight, all charted down to the exact millimeter
A testimony you were born required to say
A task you were burdened with on the day you were born.

And you fulfill it.

You run, chasing past those days of tears and desperation-
ignoring that self who still cries out for mercy and pity
You stumble past, clasping hands over your ears and shouting until your voice cannot be heard,
drowning all useless prose and beauty
Falling, falling, over and over.
The clear and twisted road has thrown you off many times
Into the grass, where even the slightest prickle of dew
(Such a translucent silver)
feels like the cold desolation in a thousand years of vivid monochrome.

Now, walking back to your car
Thinking of what a brilliant, triumphant life you have lead,
You thank god that you are not like that cashier,
Rotted away at the age of 20
Fabric of skin dulled with desperation and time
Wishing moronically for something premeditated only in her own mind
(How many bottles of wine and cigarettes did it take to chase away the pain?)
"Tranquility is a drug", someone had once said, inspecting immaculate nails by the illuminated window.
Lament and Languish were words you never learned, after all.

The soft smell of Jasmine...

A gentle crinkle of eyes.

A small smile...

Always alone....

Forgotten

Shunned.

Unknown.

Is there any to remember?

There was none to leave a voicemail in your ever empty messaging system.

No one to smile at you and breathe, "Hey.."

No one to make you feel "loved".

"Happy."

"Wanted." Those were all  foreign words to you.

But there was one time that I alone remember...

Your paintbrush rapidly staining the ivy canvas.

The quick dart of your sharp green eyes across the war of color.

The splatter of light paint on your snow white shirt.

The undisguised passion in your face as you felt a blazing happiness.

I still have that painting you drew.

Perched upon my desk.

It gathered attention...

warmed by the sun,

welcomed by society.

Do you still remember that meaningless story we listened to?

We laughed together, yeah?

The warmth of those hands...

The unreachable place that you're in will soon disappear.

Tell me you're in pain.

Tell me you're lonely.

I'll find you anywhere!

The words "Please don't leave me alone.."

Aren't we sharing one soul?

Life has withered away, too, this year

Before long, I’ve grown impatient for spring’s arrival

While listening to the chains of life

Continuing to bud in the light



But the sadness that continues to fall...

changes into pure white snow.

I keep looking at the sky.

Even if I, the only holder of your memory in this word,

disappear,

You'll live on through your painting.

I can't remember what happened anymore,

but if I try to close my eyes, I hear someone's laughing voice.

For some reason, that is my most precious treasure. But such a meeting...

A parting will happen again.

One day, when we were walking home together,

Laughing, we held each other's hands.

I felt like it would go on forever.

Your last words,"thank you for everything"

continue to echo.

This person that you are now...

have you become more beautiful?

The gentle light of dusk creeps upon the barren plains...

please hold my hand, if only for awhile.

Memories, hopes, dreams, where do I start?

I'll wait for you tommorrow by yesterday's river.

There is no right answer in life.

If I were to be hated in the end, if I was to be hated by the person I loved, then I decided these the first to hate before that happened.

Every book and fairy tale has a end, for better or worse.

If you want that rare happy ending, you must carve it out yourself.

Please embrace me, and make me laugh once more.

Even a child grows with pain.

Run, run, and cling to life. Only monsters can survive in this world.

Through this endless maze I wander aimlessly, looking for a place where I can finally sing.

And if you find someone precious to you, never let go of their hand, so you can see their warm smile eternally.

If this is to be my latest and final song, let me call it out with you here!

Walk through the ashes of your failures and learn how to regret.

When was that day when we were together?

Can't I twist time, to relieve that day?

All the lies that I've told until now, all the truths I've told until now, I've been worried about which outweighed which, and stopped searching.

Each human is bound by what they define as reality...but can we say that each man is living in his own world? Pain. Terror. Heaven. Hell. Which one tips the scale of life?

So please, just live with a smile.

If possible, I would like to cry with joy. But..I am afraid to say these words, for they may turn you away.

How do I know what to live for?

There is no prince or princess in this fairy tale.

Sometimes..you have to be your own hero.

Forever Delayed

The sky's awash in blood,

Railroad tracks encircle the land

The only thing that feels real is the knife of my breath-

will the world end in ice or fire?

All the sins I've committed tip the scales in favor of hell.

I beg your warmth, once more, anyway

The last train back, is forever delayed-

I run blindly, stumbling through wilting flowers,

Hands clamped over ears to stop that shrill scream-

What is it!?

Why are you following me?!  

"I can't see a thing" I scream, I cry,

searching desperately for words to live by,

tell me do you care, do you care-

at all?

I'm thrown to the side with nothing but

broken mirrors-

falling, falling, into the dark pit-

I can't summon enough tears to cry-

To tell you it's okay, it's okay-

That would be a lie.

All the broken things I've bled for-

so close...so close now.

But as my fingers graze them-

clocks mock-Too late! Too late!

You're already an adult!

~X~
"If you must begin something, then go all the way, for if you begin and quit, the unfinished business you have left behind will haunt you for all time. The path to love is like getting on a train you cannot get off. You ride on and on."

I run to the edge...but stop before I fall.

The thin thread of quivering life doesn't snap...yet.

This once beautiful world has become twisted and humane.

I wish I could remember how it once was. But I only know, how it will be.

If someone asked me if I wanted to see the past or the future, could I reply?

The words are torn out of my mouth.

The days go by like nothing.

But who am I to stop the clock of time?

I long for a pair of arms to hold me and murmur,

"It's okay."

And then I'll cry without regret.

But only the howl of the wind answers my call..

Peace, joy, happiness, love...what are they?

Cruel human emotions that only cause pain.

What will be and what cannot, there is a fine line between the two,

that I cannot cross.

Even though I do not believe in superstition, I hold a rosary against my chest, to guard against night.

"I wish I had wings."

My unspoken wish wails through the sky.

But do wishes come true?

I touch my cheek. What is the true value of beauty?

I thought I once knew.

Inside the core of the fruit?

Or the glistening skin of the apple?

Even if I die tomorrow, everything will go on.

Nothing will change.

But I hope, by writing this song, I can leave a memory somewhere on this earth to be remembered.

I wish that I could believe in the naive truth that happiness is something "eternal".

But what are wishes, in this demented universe?

I woke up today,
17 for the last time
feeling normal, nothing special, nothing different,
not really.
A bitter nostalgia, maybe
Maybe the sky won't be as resplendent in an adult's eyes,
no longer as brilliant or bursting with color at ripping seams of laughter

Anyway
I woke up today, still 17
Fumbled around for my pants, threw sweaters aside as I anticipated the intransigent rain
Didn't do my makeup because I didn't care,
Ran out the door with chocolate as a spontaneous breakfast because
my metabolism flew on the wings of my brilliant youth
and I thought I'd never die.

Got to class at 8:02, there was a guest speaker on environmental law and
I ripped out my eyelash
It was an accident but
The ghost of the pain crushed my eyelids for the next period
I painted a peacock in art class, smeared goldenrod across its cashmere feathers
Broke off more blocks of chocolate
Sat next to an ex, so young, thinking that this was
my first and last great love
and still
foolishly hoping for another chance

In band, filled with inexpliciable anxiety about
a competition that didn't even matter
and I'd thought
in life, the biggest worry that I would ever have was
an oboe performance
in the rain.

Laughed until I cried in English class,
Debating on the merits of design and scrolling more miles on my phone than I'd ever walk

Went home and ate ramen so spicy my eyes watered with painful fire, looked at fireflies and realized
as surely as I knew the skies were blue
that one day I would die
and everything that I knew to exist and to be true
would be gone
and everything that made me and myself would vanish
and I would never wake up again

and being 18 was only another step towards
being scattered to the wind in grey soot, over the mountains of China
ambrosia on my lips and nothing in my eyes
heart loud in silence and fierce in stubborness
Not willing to beat
one
more
time.