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May 2014 · 419
one day
疲れた May 2014
one day
it will be easier for you to fall asleep
but tonight
its three fifty eight and you are wide awake
even though your eyes are washed with tears
and your heart is numb from pain

one day
you will see the light at the end of the tunnel
at the end of the tunnel
but tonight
you are freefallng
p l u n g i n g
and you're scared because
you can't see your outstretched fingers
and there is nothing to hold on to

one day
you will no longer need to stitch yourself together
as you watch yourself fall apart by the seams
but tonight
you are in tears (again)
and no one is here
to wipe them away
because the numbers you dialled
sent you to voicemail

and maybe
one day
you will be happy again
but its been at least nine months
and the clean slits on your left fist is barely visible
you are at least nine months clean
but you are not okay
you have not been okay
and you're scared shitless because
there are some things that love cannot fix
and this happens to be one of them

but strength, cannot be measured in a protractor
because you are not just a page in my mathematics textbook
hidden in a mess of my room
and perhaps,
you are weak in the strongest sense
because you still care for the ones that
drove the knife against your skin
just as you are strong in the weakest sense
because its four in the morning and no one has returned your call
and you can't seem to stop your angry tears
but you don't reach for the knife
or for the bleach at the kitchen counter
or for the alcohol

and one day,
the pain you carved unto your arms
will one day adorn your skies like constellations because the stars will guide you home

even though its not tonight
or twenty nights from now
or twenty years from now
it was four last night and i typed this out
May 2014 · 775
black and white
疲れた May 2014
i have learnt a lot about people;

that people can be weak in the strongest sense
like how ,
even though its three in the morning and the ones you choose to call
sends your calls into the voicemail
so you are completely alone
your thoughts and you,
and you're losing but you refuse to reach for that knife
the next morning, they will ask you why you called
and you will smile and you will say nothing
the cycle repeats
and you will hold on
that is weakness, in the strongest sense

and how people can be strong in the weakest sense
like how some will sweep you off your feet
with the way they say i love you
i love you
i love you before they rip you apart
like a tornado
and you will stay
because you love them
at three am, when all is quiet and the storm is gone
you will convince yourself that they love you
and that is being strong, in the weakest way

and maybe that's why
i have stopped dividing people
as weak and strong
because this world doesn't exist in black and white
only different shades of grey
May 2014 · 305
where are you.
疲れた May 2014
nine months ago,
it was a cut, a tear
and then i'm me again

now, i'm tears on four am nights
and it won't go away

i'm angry, and sad then angry again
i'm not me
and i don't know where to look
疲れた May 2014
the next time you say
"no one loves me",
remember how its like to have a fever
don't reach the glass of water your throat is thirsting for
close your eyes for a little bit
and see your body for what it is
it is a warzone
and it is fighting to keep you alive
because it loves you
it doesn't know what you are
who you are
what you have done
but with every cut you etch across your skin
as if you are trying to erase your mistake
it heals you as if it is
trying to tell you
you are worth it
worth it
even if you don't think you are
even if everyone else doesn't think you are

so if you are looking for unconditional love,
reach for that glass of water - clench your thirst
pull that blanket over yourself
sleep knowing that your body loves you, even if you don't love you
everything will be okay
hold on a little bit.
Apr 2014 · 209
疲れた Apr 2014
its tiring to hold onto things
that don't want to be held on to
in the same way, it is terrible
to hold onto memories
because they are scars that ache on rainy days
sometimes i wish that i can stop holding onto them
疲れた Mar 2014
before you can learn to love yourself
you must first self-destruct
you must tear yourself apart and feel pain pulsing
in your blood, like toxic waste
before you can learn to love yourself
you must first know
how it is like to hate yourself
and every moment
until you want to erase every trace of yourself
from this planet
before you can learn to love yourself
you must learn to hate yourself
because they are two sides to the same coin
but some never get there
some end up  six feet under, buried under
cruel human beings who pretend to care
but never do.
Mar 2014 · 792
i don't care
疲れた Mar 2014
i don't care
i don't care
i don't care
i say with a straight face
as i click past pictures
on facebook
i don't care
i don't care
i don't care
but it hurts
that feeling keeps biting
how can i make it go away?
Mar 2014 · 223
疲れた Mar 2014
"return goodness with goodness
and viciousness in kind"
whoever says that
has never lived in our world

"I'm fine, it's okay"
no its not.
but no one knows it -
no one truly notices
the way your eyes glaze
over from hurt as the
grip on your shoulder

no one ever does.
Feb 2014 · 414
in five years
疲れた Feb 2014
at twelve,
i suffered from eight grade syndrome,
of "getting your heart broken is pretty"
it really isn't.
at twelve,
you barely know enough of love
but at the first sign of abandonment
it hurt so much you don't know
what you should do about it

at thirteen, i met you.
you, with a basketball in one hand
and change in the other;
a fence separating us
it was the first we ever touched,
fingers merely brushing
but it was enough
at thirteen, i watched the stars with you
in an island away from the mainland
i wished that we would always be together
even if we will always
"just be friends"
at thirteen, i burnt my own skin
with a stick of eraser as if i was
trying to erase all traces of myself
in this world
but it wasn't enough -
i was left with wretched scars across my left arms that
i could not explain with
"my dog bit me"
you see, my parents have never liked dogs.

at fourteen,
we weren't friends anymore
so i drowned myself not in tears
but with a bottle of panadol that i found in the fridge
my parents found it (panadol) hidden under the pillow
where instead of the tooth fairy
was the grim reaper
to take me away
and instead of dying
i had to face a teary grandmother who loved me a little more than
i could ever recuperate
and parents who were less than understanding
i needed a "i love you"
but all i got was "how could you do this to us"
at fourteen, the guilt was overwhelming
so i tried to forget by pressing a pen against a notebook
so hard i eventually bored a hole in it
and when that didn't work out, there was always the rusted penknife that i hid in a shoes box
along with a tear-stained diary of happier times
at fourteen, i tried to move on from you -
put you away like a yellowing photograph i hid in a diary
as you masked your pain with a cold shoulder
i was elsewhere, holding hands with a boy
i think that's when i found out
i loved you
in every sense of the word
i think
that's when you realised
that you loved me too.

at fifteen,
i cleaned up that ****** excuse of a life
put the blade somewhere i could never find it
broke up with the person i could never fall in love with
after that cross-country, we called each other
and fell asleep
ears pressed unto the phone
it was the happiest i had been in a long time
at fifteen,
i didn't tell you
"i love you"
even though  i wanted to articulate the three syllabus words so badly the past year
it hurt
and although our shoulders barely brushed against each other
across the hallways
and we barely held hands on dates
it was strange
that even if you are in vietnam, melting under the heat
and i am in nepal,
in a hotel room that overlooks mount everest
even if we are miles apart
you are still the only one in my mind

at sixteen,
things were slowly deteriorating:
maybe its the minutes ticking away,
until the hallways are no longer a place where laughter gathers
or maybe its the stress
of the national exams
we are barely adults and
yet we must decide our futures
as if we don't have 50 more years to decide
what we want as adults
at sixteen,
my friends are no longer friends
the hushed whispers across hallways
is only a prelude that
will eventually spell out a chapter of pain
that will lead me to a penknife
that had rusted in time but was just as sharp
or maybe if not sharper.

at seventeen, things are no longer same.
for one. you were no longer there.
its my birthday today but i kind of got sentimental and wrote this.
疲れた Feb 2014
but sometimes i get sick of it all -
i'm just done with trying
to get people to listen
instead of invalidating
my opinions even before
they actually hear me out
疲れた Feb 2014
you are a handsome man
sporting a navy blue uniform
whose goal is to deliver justice
you are a police officer -
young and ignorant
and I am the seventeen year old daughter
of a mother
who had burst into angry tears
as she rant on about how her daughters
had caused her pain
when three police officers arrived
at her doorstep after a fight in which
she has swing a 12 centimetre knife
at our faces

"don't follow the footsteps of your sister"
at thirteen, I lose my best friends
fourteen when I first drew blood
fifteen when I finally woke up from the pain
from the age when I needed someone
to tell me they cared,
where were you?
you were probably in university,
head submerged in a sea of books
and busking in your youth.
so how can you say this with a straight face
when you were unaware of the path i had thread?

and you had the tenacity to tell me
i have not grown up
yes, i am only seventeen
young, and probably ignorant
but you are the same -
but i'm not a police officer
and it is not my duty to uphold justice
because if this is your justice,
then you are doing it all wrong.
疲れた Feb 2014
to the counsellor and the disciplune master
i am suffering from emotional dysregulation
all it takes is one glance -
one glance and I know
that they will never see it
but I still try and i know:
their lives are too squeaky perfect,
too black and white
for me to explain the shades of grey
to them: having feelings, getting hurt
is "emotional dysregulation"
and I don't need a ******* dictionary
to know they are implying
that this whole problem
was because of my "perspective"
and it does not take much for me
to understand they are implying
that maybe they were not wrong
for pushing me aside like I was an old toy
like hushed whispers in the hallways
are not vicious.
"go back to school. try one more time"
they see my silence, my refusal
as running away. no.
I'm not running away -
there's nothing to mend:
the damage is done.
and if you have lived thirty long years and
you cannot understand that
there are more ways than one to close a chapter
then i wonder who is the one guilty
of a black and white thinking?
I am fighting too
just not with swords or with words
even silence has a place of its own
and its place is here.
and I cannot believe that it takes me to burst into
shameful tears for them to think
that my pain is "real"
it shouldn't take me to feel like
I am about to split into half from the pain
in order for you to finally realise i am really not okay
i have been saying that from the start
and it doesn't need to be a physical act of violence
in order for it to hurt
and i can't believe that you are the teachers that were sent
to reason with me
it makes me want to pack up my ****,
leave and never come back
just a little something for the the two teachers i had to speak to a couple of days ago.
疲れた Feb 2014
I can never be stereotypically perfect
just like how you can
be the mother that
I wish you could be for me
How can I expect you to nurse me,
when you cannot even fix yourself
to begin with
you always said that teen pregnancy is
like a child taking care of another child
in this case
our "relationship" is
the blind leading the blind

I don't understand how you can look
me in the eye and tell me
you care because you don't

you are too busy judging me
to actually be my mother
Feb 2014 · 439
one of many
疲れた Feb 2014
I have this tendency to weight words
before making my own judgment.
some would call me silly -
how can vowels and syllables mean so much
when they are suspended,
weightless in the air.

but do you know that it takes only a roll of an eye
for a susceptible teenager
to pull the trigger to their gun
and no one gives a **** –
not until you find them in the toilet
and maybe that’s why when
you told me you were worried
I laughed bitterly

I could not help it –
could not help the resentment
bubbling up
the surface of my consciousness;
I cannot forgive
the way you throw out pretty words,
your voice laced with concern –
you were not there when I was only inches away from a knife
and I cannot forgive myself
for believing in you – inheriting weakness
that came from holding onto silver promises
in the form of words

maybe my skin is just a little too thin
and my pride is a little too strong
that every blunt word,
every roll of the eye
does not only bruise my ego
but crushes the very earth I stand on
leaves me wondering
why I should even try
because each attempt
was scoffed at, mocked by
the people I thought cared –
but each time I tried they showed me
exactly why trusting people is
another one of my long lines of mistakes
travelling down
my wrists;
my thighs
the side of my waist
my arms
but that's another story to tell
one that doesn't belong to this poem
one of many
because i have too much to write
and this is not enough.
Jan 2014 · 440
疲れた Jan 2014
is defined by the urban dictionary as a major realization in life; like getting enlightened by a great thought. I think of ephiphany as a great eureka moment – like when Archimedes steps into his bath and realizes the water is displaced by his weight. but I am no mathematician or a philosopher – only a seventeen year old girl who has never experienced even an inkling of what some would describe as suffering. but moments of ephiphany don’t only happen to great people in amazing circumstances. its small moments too – like how blissful it feels to be sipping a cup of coffee brewed at four am when everyone is caged by sleep. or taking a warm shower at twelve am, alone at home. or the short moments when I wake up – when I don’t remember who I am and what I have experienced. it is months of fighting a silent war – one between myself and everyone else. every pang of resentment is a sign – because no one can see the walls of your own heart shedding until the centre is hollow, not until they wake up one morning and realize that her sheets are stained red like every night her pillow is stained with her own salty tears. and she? she is no longer breathing.
疲れた Jan 2014
“bite the bullet, train with fortitude”

I’ve repeated them to myself so many times, I can recite them by heart. I have repeated them so many times, I can feel the words as I try not to reach for a knife, for a release. I repeated them, like a mantra, like a silent prayer, as I try my best not to burst open. but it never works.

my pride is strong, but my pain is always stronger
Jan 2014 · 477
lost and found
疲れた Jan 2014
I am an archive of lost things;
lost moments
lost people
lost sounds
lost happiness
I cannot explain to you
the tingles following every touch
as you run your hands down my skin
or the wonder as
we stand under a blanket of stars
that night
or that one rare moment of clarity
monday, on a bus ride home,
after an intense fourty seven minutes
of nonstop writing
after days of night where my blood
is polluted with a poisonous hate
for everything
human and breathing
But if, ever,
we get to stand under a blanket of stars
again, I'll tell you
I love you not in a thousand languages
but I'll squeeze your fingers a little tighter
and you will do the same
because the feeling's mutual.
疲れた Jan 2014
“Be glad when things hit rock bottom because then, things can only get better.”
But what if I am falling into a bottomless pit,
one that winds deeper and deeper until I am surrounded by something so dark,
I can’t even see my own fingers.
“Please stay by my side”

What empty words, hollow of meaning.
I know its hopeless – we all do.
When push comes to shove,
depression make promises sealed once-upon-a-time lose its value.
I thought you knew me.
I thought I knew you.
I was mistaken.

I can keep wishing for better days:
of smiles and promises that you would never leave but I’m still alone
and some days, I am attacked by vague memories that should not matter anymore-
On the bus 14, on the way to school after lunch
Late night phone calls talking about our feelings and dreams and aspirations

I used to be invaluable –
now I’m cast aside like an old toy that a child has got bored of.
She moves on, but I’m still her;
Picking up the remnants of the meaning of “friendship”,
or should I say “the friend who sailed away on the ship”

On some days, I am happy.
Those days, I am not me.
I am blissfully unaware of the pain fourteen years of existence had inevitably caused me.
I am a collection of scars that still hurt.
On some days, the sadness grabs me by the neck and refuses to relish its hold on me.
On those days, I will be in my room,
a blanket over my head and music blasting a little too loud on its good.

That’s sad – a perfect life, a perfect family
and yet, I am still so full of pain, scars and insecurity.
I can only hope; hope that something good comes out of this.
I hope that this wouldn’t end up as scars lining my hands –
scars that wouldn’t heal no matter how much time has passed.

Jan 2014 · 699
don't forget me
疲れた Jan 2014
I am not a genius
but day after mundane day
I have discovered the different kinds of distances
that has nothing to do with numbers
like how it takes about ten minutes
for the bus home to arrive
or how the bus stops at four different places before it reaches my place
It is the distance of feelings
the pangs of longing that comes with waiting for a stupid bus
or the bouts of loneliness; emptiness
that comes with solitary walks along the hallways in school
because the same time, last year
we were standing side by side
so close that our fingers are barely brushing
It is a distance of words
spinning around in my head, until I am brimming
with the memories and the suffering that comes along with it
but when I speak, I'm at a loss of words because
I love you so much it hurts
I love you so much that written languages will never be enough
to possibly comprehend it because not even I
understand it
It is the distance of extremities
of "I love you"s and "I miss you"s
and please, please,
                                *don't ever forget me
Jan 2014 · 449
I am not a poet
疲れた Jan 2014
I am not a poet
whose mind is as beautiful and destructive
as the universe itself
I am not a poet;
only a person whose words never seem
to roll off my tongue and bounce off the walls
they way they do in the walls of my mind
I am not a poet;
whose words are so beautiful
as they accentuate every syllable,
taking a life of its own
I am only an amateur
                                    whose words will always fall short
Jan 2014 · 476
疲れた Jan 2014
they say that at three am in the morning
it feels like as if the earth has split itself open
and something age old creeps itself to the surface
******* the breathe
out of everything
and I wish it would take me away
sometimes I wish I could forget everything
like daybreaks in Nepal
like the tears that come with the two syllable word "goodbye"
like the sound of your heart
b e a t i n g
against my very own
and how I may know words but I
will always remain at a loss
on how to describe how my heart never stops clenching
when I think of you
and how that ten pm train will always be the last train
even though there are two more hours to midnight
疲れた Jan 2014
its not even three am
in the morning
but there are chains
my heart like silk
and with
each thought of you
it tightens until I
forget how to
b r e a t h e
疲れた Oct 2013
to the teacher that made a difference:

we were 11 when you first walked in,
so we met five years ago,
but we left one year later
with a naivety only a 12 year old like me could ever possess

In this four years, I am
no longer as simple-minded,
maybe I've grown to become a lot more cynical
that I would like to admit
But one thing still stand true to me
You made a huge difference in my life

I wonder a lot about you sometimes
how are you?
On days like these, when dark clouds loom over
I remember the word sinister
But I don't remember the definition
But when you told me "Good work!"
Do you know?
It was the first time in 5 years
I was finally good at something.
I wonder what you saw in us,
and I still do
Because no one; not even our own parents
thought we would ever amount to anything
And every time I pinned up my hair,
I would be reminded of you
and how you would tease me
about the hair that would fall over my eyebrows

In these four years,
I remember more moments,
more occasions where
I have hurting you
more than making you glow in pride
and maybe in one of our reunions
you saw the burn marks across my hand
that were just too straight and too close
too deliberate
to just be an accident

And in this four years,
You decided to give up teaching
to try photography instead
Maybe you decided that it was better
to capture the moments
Instead of creating an illuminating tomorrow
that might not even come true in the first place
or maybe you thought you didn't had a place in mine
or maybe you thought it would hurt less if you didn't
and maybe you've never thought of it
in this way
until you saw the scars travelling across my arm
telling its own story

And if you were here right now
would I still be a disappointment?
I suppose it would not matter in the first place
not when you don't think you deserve a role in my life
But I would still..
I'm sorry,
and thank you
for ever existing
in the first place
Oct 2013 · 431
疲れた Oct 2013
you are beautiful:
like the wind that comes with falling rain;
coffee at 3am;
and scars across your arm
Oct 2013 · 1.3k
8th grade syndrome
疲れた Oct 2013
the internet says that
I am at a vulnerable time of my life right now
because I am somewhere
between a child and an adult
and that is a lot like how
a caterpillar wrapping itself around silk walls of cocoon
that I like to call society
no matter how long it remains silent
a butterfly would always struggle and slowly
emerge from its own silky white cage in time to come
and that comforts me because
in real life,
I am a piece of glass everyone looks right through
and with no one that I truly feel a connection to,
I find myself standing at the sidelines
and maybe I watch too much anime,
but I want someone to call me their friend
and not give me a chance to doubt their meaning of friendship
and consequently whether or not
I really mean something to them
and maybe I’m still suffering from 8th grade syndrome,
which is a Japanese slang for people, nearing adolescence who
think they are special members of society
and I used to believe that I have magical abilities
and I am the only one capable of fighting against an
age old evil
and I still know that to be true,
but now,
I know that I am just fighting against my own hormones
the same ones that cause my face to turn red at the mention of my poetry
and the same ones that cause outbreaks on my face during exam periods
and the same ones that make me feel so alone at 3a.m in the night
and I know I'm not special, not even close
but I want to feel like
I've been good enough
at least once in my life
Some things that I was thinking about while playing osu by myself at night. The title just popped out in my head and I thought I would write it. I don't know if that's how you really use the slang but I hope I did a good enough job.
疲れた Oct 2013
loving and being loved
breaking hearts and broken hearts
I had learnt a long time ago
they were
different sides to the same coin

Just like how falling in love
Is going bungee jumping,
forgetting the rope and
by the time you realize,
you are 10 feet under,
immobilized, water filling your lungs
There's no security, and 99.9% you
end up with tears and splinters in your heart

And the
"who"s, "what"s and "why"s
don't really matter because love
isn't breaking news
and there's no title, much less

and when hearts are broken,
the breaking question is: who has it worse?
the one leaving or the one who stayed
but even that doesn't matter
not when both are left crushed,
life knocked out of them

Oct 2013 · 865
the first time
疲れた Oct 2013
The first time someone broke my heart
was the day I cried for 2 hours straight
to my "boy best friend"
shocked into silence by my tears,
he repeated "it'll be okay"
over and over again
I didn't believe him.

And my first taste of abandonment
were very much like burns while
playing with fire
but instead of raw, throbbing fingers
the pain came in the form of
tears, its taste salty from
pent up resentment and hurt
it scarred me
and left me weary of those who approached

The first time I broke someone's heart,
we were approaching our sixth month
the brief exchanges of apologies and goodbyes
left me short of breathe
and i might not have 'loved' him
but the dull, throbbing ache 'goodbyes' left me
made me wonder otherwise

and the first time I found out what it meant to let go
it left me with a chill that would not go away, not
even if i stood under the blazing sun,
hours on ends
and when tears failed me,
I turned to shiny blades and pain
that dulled the throbbing of my heart
Promising myself, I would never find another
I holed myself up against anyone that stood too close,
masking the vulnerability that was crystal clear to everyone else

And the first time I fell in love
It was with a boy whose silence spoke louder than his words ever could
and though his past was tear-stained and broken,
he was not.

And my first taste of real love
did not give me butterflies in my stomach
but the silent strength to
heal the damage I afflicted to myself after
every tear,
every pain,
every heartbreak.
I could begin to love myself again.

And yes, I know
"Happy endings" only happen in childrens' book
and we will find hurt and anguish in every corner
we expect to find bliss and happiness
as if mocking our efforts of contentment
but each time i'm close to tears,
I'll remember how perfectly our hands fit,
and I guess that will be enough,
for me, at least

Oct 2013 · 422
疲れた Oct 2013
And I will spend today, in my bed
tangled together in sheets
and warmth
because it’s a raging downpour in my mind
and a hole in my heart
where our memories now hide
Oct 2013 · 379
breathe again
疲れた Oct 2013
shakespeare once said
“the world is a stage, and we as actors”
but we are not just actors, we
are also the scriptwriters
except things don’t always go as planned:
sometimes we don’t get our happily ever after
and sometimes we find ourselves
in a different dimension altogether where
all you know is pain not because
they decided to rewrite your favourite scene
but because they stole the oxygen from your lungs
as they punch a hole no one else but they can fill
and you are left
gasping for air you can never breathe
as long as they are gone
and you know that you will never be able to breathe again
but it does not stop you from
for that one day
when you are in their arms,
and you can finally
breathe again
Oct 2013 · 404
疲れた Oct 2013
we all have stories to tell:
our lives,
past, present and future are all
an elaborate book
of pain and suffering
we all have scars
some deeper and darker
than we would ever care to share
and so, often
we sit in pained silence as
people walked by,
seemingly oblivious to our pain
when really they are just engrossed
in their own
Oct 2013 · 1.1k
we are fighters
疲れた Oct 2013
some fight for others,
who cannot fight for themselves
some fight for themselves,
for bright, shiny things like money and fame
some fight with honour,
believing deeply in friendship and loyalty
some fight *****,
unafraid to step on dead bodies if it means they can get what they want
some fight the darkness dwelling in their hearts,
because they are afraid the knife would hit the wrong(right) vein and
they would die in a ****** mess
some fight their own fears
by making risky decisions they never think twice about
some fight the time in their lives
by making the best out of what they have
they are always smiling

so when you said
'I've stopped fighting- I've given up'
you're wrong.
everyone is waging a war, fighting their own battles
it is also a struggle to quit
Oct 2013 · 663
playing doctor
疲れた Oct 2013
you were broken inside:
which was why you decided to play doctor that night.
you wanted to fix yourself.
with a bottle of pills as anaesthesia in one hand,
and a razor blade in another
that night was spent in a strange kind of ecstasy
when blade touches skin and blood trickles
you dissected your own heart,
wanting to understand
how something barely the size of your fist,
could keep you,
devoid of anything, alive
you didn't manage to find the answer that night
and fell asleep, failing to sew yourself back together
and each night you were plagued
by the viruses of pain and self hatred
and you were plunged into turmoil as
your immunity to the apathy of this world decrease
and on some nights,
you turn to that same bottle of pills or even a razor
when it hurts to even breathe because
your heart feels so heavy it's about to fall out of your chest
and on these nights,
you are driven to that rusty razor,
addicted to the strange ecstasy that comes from
blades touching skin, drawing red paint from your canvas of wrists
and on these nights,
you decide for yourself that
nothing could possibly be worth the pain
and your heart will remain forever
as a black rotting piece of flesh

see, even though on that night
all you wanted was to try and fix yourself
you ended up breaking yourself beyond repair
Oct 2013 · 453
I fell in love
疲れた Oct 2013
I fell in love
with the magic of stringing words into letters
and putting them on a piece of paper
I fell in love
with the blank between my words
that were not quite as empty as it seems
They were dark matter of feelings
that remain an enigma to me, until now
when words fail me, there were always the tiny blanks
that were not quite as tiny as they seem
they were nebulas of feelings
too complex to describe with just mere words
And though I may not be a poet,
I fell in love with spilling words on paper,
creating my own universe when
my voice failed me

I fell in love with the art of poetry
疲れた Sep 2013
My councillor once told me
that living was just like walking
we learn to walk through life and sometimes
we accidentally knock into things

and some of us,
we might learn to avoid knocking into things
or grow stronger so we break whatever we knock
but some of us might continue tripping on rocks
and after knocking things,
over and over and over again,
we get tired of falling and scraping ourselves
and we find that we soon fall into despair

and maybe one day, some of us will learn
to break our obstacles or avoid them
but some of us?
they never get up.
some metaphorically, some literally.

— The End —