A story of a boy
Adolescent, flowering glass heart, surrounded by stone
Green-eyed misery that stayed in the back of my mind
When I didn't want him to
He was like that;
It only takes one kiss
From his tender lips:
The forest-eyed catastrophe engulfs you whole
Those emerald daggers sink into your throat
Trailing painfully down into the pit of your stomach
Then slither back up into your lungs,
At last, sinking your heart all the way down to the ground
The Earth-eyed nightmare seeps into your skin
Writhing its roots into your veins
Living there forever
Digging its branches into your bloodstream

Taking him out would tear you apart.

growing up is
so inevitable
to the point where
you only notice it
in subtle moments.

like when you see
the once perfectly glazed over scenarios
that your parents once shielded
you from,
now graded and ugly, years of iron-curtained rust covering it whole, for the first time.

like going to highschool and realizing,
everything is not just a comfortable
sunday afternoon,
where we all love to learn and enjoy your individual merits;
but rather a concealed house fire that a stranger started at your bedroom window,
but calls your name from your front door, saying he’ll save you.

when i was young i wanted to be a singer-
to sing about my childish fantasies- where
the world was all colors, not just monochromatic, and the art of language was interchangeable beyond just its origin, but within its people.

in school we learn about the aspects of originality.
how conformity is better in some circumstances
and how nonconformity could have the same premise, if done the way we were taught.
take this test, take that.
effort becomes meaningless when there’s no rhyme to your reason.

we spew out information from the day we can retain it, then on to the day we decide to spew it on to our children.
regurgitating the ethical analytics of our 9-5 jobs or hobbies until we can go home, indulge our brains on our skin tight routines,


just so that we can do it all again in the morning.

this is not the direction that we were supposed to go in...
when the ****-sapiens started off as hunters and gathers
they realized they needed something easier.
they meant so that they’d have more time to live the lives they longed to.
they didn’t mean to make their lives so comfortable into which they cannot have one,
as we are not ourselves these days
without a phone in hand.

we only take things in that we want to hear.
we fill up the entirety of our minds with pointless ideologies
uncomical celebrities
mixed with discombobulated news stories
the phone between our fingers is so focused in on that we can’t even achieve a longer attention span than a goldfish.

we’ve cast a metal, deceiving hero’s cape over our backs, and a sneering mask over our eyes. the shoes we wear, coated in the the soot we didn’t see on our path,
and the gloves on our hands, in the words of Langston Hughes,
are giving absolutely no protection
against the bearing frost over our fields of opportunities.

how old we are, we could not say.
the days go by so fast when we know not
the aspects of our self preservation.

You know it's time to address your mental health,
When a smile is reassuring,
When "hello" is a digression,
And every stare is an evaluation.

You know it's time to confront your inner thoughts,
When you turn off the lights, and you give up.
When you dream of the possible, rather than what you actually want,
And the memories that made you nostalgic,
are now acidic in your heart.

White turns to black;
Sick turns to indisposed,
As the imposes turn to diagnoses.
I feel dizzy, my head is spinning-
In reality, I'm healthier than when I was winning.

It's just an imbalance, a lapse in my deception-
Little do I know, I've been blind for years.
Only when I opened my eyes, did I see-

The potential in my complexion.

I just can't help but wonder

If by you saying "I love you"
Is just another way of saying "I love the feeling of you".

That your fantasy of us
Was just an illogical fallacy of lust
Because in truth, I fear you do not think with your heart-
In betrayal, I will always trust.

I wish we were back to those beautiful days;
The days where we would pick strawberries,
On the coats of Norway-
Swing carelessly, on the seasides of Whales.

Now, we just pick fights on the depths of our insecurities,
Say careless, arrogant things out of spite-
I miss when "I love you", wasn't an apology.

Maybe you can love me for real this time,
and not like the times we've shared.
I hope that one day "I love you" will mean no more
than just a few words to show mediocre affection-
And I won't need it as my life line,
Or my everlasting addiction for approval from you.

Maybe one day, we won't even have to say
"I love you",
Because on that day, we wouldn't have to wonder
What the answer would be.

For once, I deserve that.

A promise
Is when someone vows something to you
In order to maintain a temporary trust;
A strong
Abundant trust.

A promise
Is when we let that abundance of trust
Fill the whole in our hearts where we need reassurance-
And like the white whales in the Red Sea,

We are resiliently hooked.

A promise
Is when we are given a hope,
Even when we know It's sometimes false.
People make promises they can't keep;
In our hearts, we all know this to be true.
Sometimes false hope is the heart-pumping blood we all need.

Red in all its glory; It's our life support.

Sometimes a promise cannot be fulfilled, but only vowed-
Our involuntary recipients,
Harrowing over our grotesque stabs at being their very veins.
Like the vows of a marriage,
We say them to prove we can provide some sort of air for them;
Though as if we live underwater.
We give people their air, though it is only a bubble-
Just to put in their lovely heads that one day,
Maybe they'll get a whole breath.

We are all so vain

We cannot even stitch our own cloth,
Or eat any food that is further than our own lands-
Everything we do has to be in line with everyone else's...
Naked, pail bodies.

As giant astroids plummet towards us-
The skies spiraling with streaks of purple and red;
Colors we've never seen before.

We worry more about running away

Than looking up at the sky.

We cry for our soon demise

But we never once think of it as a new beginning.

We are so absent-minded these days.

Climbed down from the pedestal,

Because I realized nobody wants to be up here-

Worked so hard for it....

But then again nobody knows what they sign up for.

My white gown is stained-

How could anyone do such a thing?

I guess nobody remembers the values of accusation
Because nobody was charged...

Sitting on the ground-
Warm like the memories I instill in this town;
I'll eat the fruits to remember what it all tasted like.
A taste of my own medicine.

It's kind of ironic how one thing can be taken for another

Maybe the pedestal after all was a pit of thorns..

Luckily I didn't stay long enough to get cut..

At the same time, the ground here is giving me a bruise!

I'll have to tell someone that one day.