November is full of change,
And I swear that on my own grave.
And soon after November passes,
I swear on my mothers ashes,
Nothing will be the same.

When all you want to do is create,
But all your creations are struck solid-
As if passed through by the gaze of Medusa.
Massive waves of destruction churn and rage,
As if tragedy was the true mother of Aviendha.

And October’s anxieties are much too real
In the face of November’s wounds to heal.
December’s arrival is both relief and restraint;
From grandmother wreaths and 4 year old birthday cakes.

20 came and went and so far I have not succumbed
To the throes of dear death’s mighty blows
And I guess the real test is surviving the age of 21.
And see the difference
between my parents,
To see the difference
between me and them.

November’s change is soon to arrive-
It will not carry me from the burden of being alive,
And sometimes I can’t tell if that plea is for something beyond immortality:
The kind of thing the mortal wouldn’t believe.

November’s change is hot on our tails
And I know, that if all else fails,
I have a love stronger than the
Intermittent call of death.
Meet me on the other side,
The in betweens and underneaths
Meet me in our last breath
And the glaze that covers our eyes.
Meet me where we can make every end meet.

emotion unnamed
yet very familiar
dare not speak it’s name
increase risk of giving it permission
to hang around longer than
well however long this will take
energy builds
clouds start gathering
the armada assembled  
threatening electrical storms
in a rising wave
dragging me under
tumbling
tumbling
over
and
over
lungs burning
screaming for air


breathe now the storm has passed
fix your hair up honey
you look a tad bedraggled
drowning on dry land


@journeyofdays

The truth is I have no idea how to begin this
because I don’t even remember
how or when exactly you began to invade my consciousness.
you were an uninvited guest, a gatecrasher, an intruder
filling my mind with paranoia and endless dilemma —
how I contemplate about going out or not
because I get overwhelmed with crowded places
like public transports, and malls, and fast food chains,
how I s-stutter whenever placing an order,
or how I could not finish one sentence without repeating
repeating a word or or two.

It might sound funny how I find a sea of people terrifying,
how I feel a dagger or a gun pointed at me every time I step
outside my comfort zone,
how I would replay failed scenarios inside my head like a broken tape,
how I would apologize for actions that demanded no apology.
I often get nightmares about being asleep and not being able to wake up
and sometimes I dream about waking up in a strange bed in a foreign room
filled with people with the strangest faces talking in tones barely audible
but when the voices would all stir together
I would run out of air and pass out,
but I still wake up though, screaming, trembling
signaling another episode of survival.

If I could drive, I would take you away with me and bring you to a sunset beach
tell you that everything’s gonna be alright
that it’s okay to knock me down sometimes
but not too hard to break me
just enough to remind me that I am, after all, human
Or maybe I would drown you or maybe not
because I get too overwhelmed with the waves
I struggle against the current,
and I am the one who gets drowned instead.

I hate you, no, I mean I love you. I should love you
because they said those we love are meant to leave
So I will love you, I will love you until you get tired of me,
until you no longer find me appealing
I will love you obsessively, until you get sick of me,
until you run out of places to run to, until you run out of air
I will love you until I run out of words and metaphors
and rhyme or reason,
I will love you with the hopes that one day I could finally say:
“My anxieties have died beautifully, with dignity,
in their sleep.”

Roses are red
Three comes before four
Do you want to know what goes on in my head?
It's an absolute war

and watch over the woman
who will be my wife, wherever she is

surround her with good people
who will not harm her

give her comfort in moments of sadness
until my arms can do the same

clothe her with peace
until she can hear my voice

and if she be pricked by the ebon briar
of darkness, then light her path toward me

and give me enough days and
strength of step to cross her path

then may I speak words with depth
that cause her to see who You created

We can live together on
the hardwood floors of
my parents’ house, stay
up late, eating apples, and
sifting through pomegranate
sludge. Your beard will be
sticky, and my fingertips will
be cinnamon sugared, like
some candied catharsis,
and you can lick them clean.

Little infant Icarus, I will
turn you into constellations.
Rip you apart, spread you
across the sky, and pray hard
for clear nights.
Oh! the terrible things.
I make no apologies for
laughter in churches.
I am the forrest floor, and
I am a burning hill, and

I will not die for you.

They ask me about my poetry
Done with ease
So easily
Like stars align; astrology
Coded into chemistry
It's basically
Biology
Like a limb;
A part of me
Crackling with energy
Electrical and synergy
Working together like a team
My heart and mind combined
To find that sign, in time
Make poetry!