Ambiguity, dubious intent
Let those all flee from me
All I need and want
Is certainty and clarity
As I must take action
With empty solidarity
And heavy heart filled
With mercury and lead
Which can be fixed
By the Alchemist of mystery
But nonetheless to the end
I will be forever known to be
Alone in my own sweet misery

Sisters and I spent last summer on the beach
No lesson, no in between the line to teach

Listening to the rolling and crashing of the wave
That sounded like fresh opened coke echoing in the cave

With ears craning and softening breath
Like in one night stand of the ******'s final death

The bittersweetness of summer weather
Brief it falls and float up as weightless feather

We sat on the beach for the last summer time
Hoping to come back once more with a dime

To dear God whom I confess
But which whom I cannot assess

In which I do not know if I should regret
That I am monster born and not beget

I do not feel guilty as I make child cry
My heart feels empty while my face is dry

I feel nothing when parting ways
With friends and families, even dearly dead

But if I am such a monster, why do I bother
To long for love of my mother, my sisters and my father?

Which I will never receive in a blue moon
But will crave as sunshine in the afternoon

I sit here waiting my impending doom
Filled with wild thought alone in my room:

Why do I feel loneliness and fear
In loveless world I continue to tear

And only place to confess my truth
Is in a place and space of a booth

Where my face hides away from the eyes
Which I must continue to deny

As I am the shadow that hides from light
But until the end, I will fight for flight

As I wish to be free from such thought
While I lay shivering tight as rope has wrought

Why do I feel so lonely,
Even when there are 7 billion people
And still continuously counting
Existing and breathing on Earth?

I think it’s stupid
To make all the riddle
Rhyme

Why do they say we
Look so pathetic and desperate
If we keep asking for attention
Aren’t we all in a same boat
When we are all desperate for love?

They like to push and pull
A game, they say it’s fun to play
With people’s emotion and ruin their day
But every single one and that includes me
We are all addict to the game we play

Why do I bother adding capitals
To first word of these poems
Oh right, the word is being
Autocorrected and so on

They say believe me,
But they show signs of deceit
And such reflection
Is seen within me

So how do I ever trust
When I cannot afford to trust
And how can I believe
When I cannot even trust you?

Living a Vegan Lifestyle
Must be real nice

But it’s really funny
because poor can’t afford to eat like Vegan
So it’s true, survival of fittest
Cuz if you don’t eat like Vegan,
You need to supplement with other resources
With dying pigs and chickens in
Hell Farm that’s what we call it
We all know about it
They bash in chicks head

But it’s really funny
Cuz even we know about it
It’s hard to change our habit
Despite the obvious animal
Cruelty, amongst everyone
People seem to be against it
It would ruin the fundamental of
Mass production and consumerism,
So the fault is it in all of us

But it’s really funny
Cuz no one want to take the
Blame we shove it in to the
Invisible man’s ideology of our time
So who we ask ourselves
Who’s the culprit and start
Pointing finger to a scapegoat
But we all wear the blame
Literally I’m not kidding

But it’s really funny
No one really seem to care
Too much greater problem
With Global warming and such
All around the world
Give you headache
Just to think about all the horror
Let’s all be vegan, why not?
And save the world by eating healthy

Tattoos to cover the scars
To make it something beautiful, that's what we are

We aren't something to get attention
We hid away your imperfection

Never to remind you the disdain
But to remind you the beauty in pain

Forever we remain engraved
In the hearts and mind that have braved

How brief the world comes and goes
Flickering neon light would last longer
Then the fate of the world that comes and goes

Having thin wrists
Ever so feminine,
sharp as knives,
slim as a needle.

I eat and eat and eat
But no fat ever gets stuck
on my thin wrists.
They stay thin in defiance.

A boy asked another boy
If he could break my thin wrists
He looks at it rationally-coldly.
It would just take a snap.

But my wrists made of bones
Composed of calcium,
Same component
As that boy’s wrist

To think, to phantom, to assume,
it would break so easily.
Takes my breath away
as I look at my thin wrists.

Sun
Rains down.
On skin: black, white, yellow, and brown.
And all skins burn
Under the natural UV light.

Skin
Is something that is not so profound.
It exists in triangular lines of cells that are bound.
Mending and bending with tears and scars,
Over the muscles, tissues, and blood vessels alike.

Skin
Is something that is on the surface; mind you.
They tell you from the start that it’s the inside that counts,
With glitters and flowers and sticker stars,
That you are perfect no matter who you are.

Skin
Is the first thing pre-schoolers recognized.
One boy bluntly points out that this girl is
Dark and *****, different from the rest.
I grab the finger away from her eyes.

Skin
Is the first thing that teenagers find to name.
They call you ******, chinks, and a Terrorist.
They dress as you for Halloween in “good” jeers,
Never to understand the hurt behind and within.

Skin
Is the first thing that adults ask about.
They assume you are Chinese, Japanese, Aboriginal, Afri-
Firmly I interrupt to explain about ethnicity and nationality,
But they don’t care about who you are.

Skin
Is the first thing couples try to match.
Because people stare when black and white are holding hands.
Even I am guilty of such and curiously wish to ask,
How did they meet, fall in love and come about?

Skin
Is the first gossip in town.
It fills the news outlet with riots and protests,
With each claiming their right but backlash after backlash,
Just washes down the black mirror to static white.

Skin
Is the first thing I find myself noticing now.
In a fantastical resort in front of Dominican beach.
White privilege enjoys an all-around buffet while
Dark-toned staff work around the clock.

Knee deep in the surface skin.
People bury themselves in it and live.
But even insects and animals shed their skin.
So, why so much emphasis on the
Skin.

I ain’t saying that being White makes you racist or rich.
I ain’t saying that being a coloured minority makes you a victim.
It’s just something I have noticed;
A problem so thin but keen in everyday
Life.

Wishing
For equity, not equality
The needs exist. After all,  
Bleach skin with white sunscreen
Is always guaranteed.

Ghosts are walking today.
Last night, misty rain fell upon the town.
On top of already soaking wet yellow leaves
that was plastered flat layer by layer-
like a yellow brick road. I walked on-
after work because biking was not an option-
in the wet air upon the wet road.
Where the road shone slick black,
Under the orange streetlight-
beneath the fading twilight, into the night.

Ghosts are marching today.
They pushed and shoved between the thin veil,
in forms of wind shrouded with orange decaying leaves.
They left dust trails, sidewalk cyclones, and-
Played mischief upon innocent walkers.
They crowded around and laid in wait,
until in groups they swamped and swayed.
As they passed by the disarrays,
with their fuzzy hats, thick coats and flying scarves,
they clutched their coat, just a little bit tighter-
and that’s enough I’m sure, to make deads smile.

Ghosts are parading today.
There was a halo behind the blanketing grey clouds-
that allowed a trickle of lights like diamonds fell into my eyes
and just for a moment in the corner of my eyes I saw:
a long crowd reflected by the golden light,
parading down the street, not caring for passing cars.
They carried a banner high up to the sky
and I squinted my eyes for a better look,
twisted my head back to catch another glimpse,
but with a blink of eyes, they were gone-
like the misty rain that fell last night.

sometimes it's really hard to pop the bubbles
they slip and slide between swing of my hands and fingers
still, i always gave it a heartfelt chase even when I stumble
looking closer, they have amazing scope of colours which lingers

so do you know what i'm talking about with bubbles
the invisible bubble that seem to surround individual people
i give myself gasping excuses that slowly crumbles
that they are too preoccupied with their own unique prequel

i never realize i have built those bubbles
with my own two soapy hands
seeing many bubbles that seem to multiply in doubles
i continue to swipe, but they form a tighter band

sooner or later though they seem to dissolve
and here I sit left wondering about wondering
how everyone is doing; a simple question to solve
in my tiny steaming bathtub where i lay pondering

A curse they cry with wondering fear
A howling of wolves upon the ear

The shadows at the corner of the eyes
The sunset stains the blue to red dyes

O those faithful stay still so calm
But those that shivers cuts their palm

For the smell of rotting meat
Will continue to rot in dead heat

hey
i'm sorry
i really don't do romance
i'm so tired of listening to
same ole story just in
different variation and tone
but they are playing the same chorus
ya get what i mean right?
why do romance
when you are one?
someone answer my question
why is there so many
poems, stories, songs
about romance they have fallen into
but never romance they are themselves?
and in the end regretting
the love they were in
but love is you and me
no give and take i don't see
just don't beat each other for it
no need to steal it, you simply can't
it's there when i am there
and not when i am not

i think i like myself better
when i'm angry
i become just a little bit more
honest and true
if not at all, bit cruel

but no longer afraid of
what others think of me
a moment when i realize
it doesn't matter more than
my own expression of my emotion

sorry if my anger
scares you away
but i like myself better
when i'm angry
so let me hulk out

the whole world used to be terra nullius
until humanity came along
they sticked their hand
claiming this is mine, mine, mine

They say the silence is deafening
But I wonder how that can be
I don't think I understand the meaning of
silence

How can you hear the silence,
If it has no voice, no echoes, no sound to follow?
Coming up with nothing when ricocheting with nothing
Isn't that what silence is? Nothing of sound produced

Sincerely I hope I hear the silence
And I catch myself, just before the resilence
Silence is nothing without loneliness
Lots of nothing, for nothing

compelling law shall compel
crimes against humanity to cease
but those crimes i shall not list
continue to brew in the mist

feels like I have no time to write
with school, part time job and extra things
I have prioritized over my likes
but that's an excuse I tell myself
when it's so simple to open up my computer
and type, type, type
rattling of my keyboard
without a care in the world
about anything and everything
just me and my thoughts

Principles and generality
Why are they met with such hostility?
When nothing else seems to make sense
In world that lurches and change
The only fall back I would have is
Validity and Verifiability

Music is the soul of the ears
Calligraphy is the soul of the eyes
Fragrance is the soul of the nose
Compassion is the soul of the mouth
Knowledge is the soul of the brain
Wisdom is the soul of the heart

when people says
you are annoying
they are looking down on you
thinking they are on the higher ground

you have 2 choices:
bring them down to your height
or raise them up to your level
as it matter which position
you see yourself in

i hoped to be that light
that shined at night
the light that does not let nothingness consume
because the nature of the light was to be bright

i wished to be that lighthouse
that shone for abandon cause
much like the lost sailor drifting on top of bottomless sea
sailing through the storm that was like the slaughterhouse

i believed to be the shining knight
that had ability to judge and smite
that carried out justice and revolted against the cruel injustice
the world seemed so simple to write; how short was my insight

but somehow i have become the lost
searching for the heat, but i feel the frost
sometimes i was the night that would consume the light
feeling nothing than hurting seemed to be worth the cost

but oh what a false thought
for the light i lost and fought
was something that was dear to my very own heart
but i'm only left with the nostalgic afterthought

i see others' light
i wish i could have their might
different lights with different kinds showing erie sense of their life
i can see, feel, hear and taste their past, present and future flight

i tried to regain my light
not having my thoughts in a cockfight
but it's so hard to rekindle and protect the ashes of the dead light
it would be far easier to risk a poisonous rattlesnake's bite

but at twinkling of the twilight
for me, not all is a lost goodnight
i have friends and families that does not let me give up
and perhaps a moral compass that still keeps me upright

so i'm preparing my dead light
can once more be ignite
by a dry wind carrying a spark or a passing of the accidental wick
it will lit like a forest fire, spreading far and wide with upmost delight

so hold your light tight
most close to your heart fright
show the way for those who have lost their light and thus their sight
be the one to guide lost souls even with a tear drop of your moonlight