galaxy of myths

galaxy of myths Mar 2017

origami

You keep folding yourself in. Like origami, you turn into various art sculptures. You change so you'll remain hidden and unseen but I'm an observer. I see how with every fold, I make a mental note of it.

How spectacular; you fold to hide but to me you're an art exhibition. The more you try to stay low-key, the more awestruck I get. So how, my dear, do you think you're uninteresting, unloved, unentertaining when your very being is a field I'm studying? You're art.

-m.b

galaxy of myths Mar 2017

kilig

I think,
Write,
Talk
About you
A lot.
I'll smile
And blush
When I reminisce
Of our days together

-m.b

galaxy of myths Mar 2017

one of a kind

You're the kind of beauty that wouldn't strike at first glance. More like with each stare, with each word spoken, with each conversation heard. With your quiet and cool demeanor, you're most likely being overlooked but once they start to notice you, you're hard to forget. How could a vivacious person like you went unnoticed? Now it's hard to shake you out of their heads. You're the type that every poet would weep over. How lovely, how enchanting, how mysterious, how angst-filled; you're broken yet full.

-m.b

galaxy of myths Mar 2017

dots

She is made of dots. Every dot symbolizes events in her life. From afar, you'd think they are just random sprouts of freckles but behind every spot is a story. Her quietness hides the many dots. I've known from the start that she has a lot more hidden beneath her skin, sprinkled on her bones, pulsing in her veins, throbbing in her brain. Slowly I'm trying to join them together. It could take years and I'll probably die before I finish it but it'll be worth it. She's a brilliant map made of dots. I'm discovering them one by one.

-m.b

galaxy of myths Mar 2017

a state of confusion

You're hot, then you're cold.
"She's like that," or so I've been told.

I like you better
when you're sober.

One day it'll make sense
But for now I'm a mess.

-m.b

galaxy of myths Mar 2017

without

Empty shelves;
Empty hearts.

Quiet surroundings;
Quiet souls.

Unfinished writings;
Unfinished thoughts.

-m.b

Mar 2017

kian

roots

a lost boy
a forest of white trees and black mist
roots of the same species

he is lost
in his own mind
and the sturdy company
had the same fate

there was no use in wandering
so he stood still
till his feet enchained
and his heart detained

like prophecy
the earth swallowed him back
his body was not his own property
and never will it be

it comes slow
like death
it takes you whole
until you can't see no more

a lost boy
who was black
from sin he eluded
asked if the world could take him back

so here he is
reincarnated
white and relaxed
with the same people who let go of their past

lost children and their lost hearts
that beats with reciprocation
in roots they come
in roots they rejoin