gears and gadgets and ghosts
take up the table
swim around in her mind
fill up the spaces

where she couldn’t
fix them
help them
avenge them
save them

she grasps at her tools
makes others whole
takes dust from the rubble
and loves it back together

she fixes and tries
to fight the ghosts
of her parents laying dead
the one thing she wanted most
the only thing she couldn’t mend

I was cold, dark, broken.
Not in body, but in mind.
Light and love were privileges denied to the likes of me.
Blades, bruises, blood, breath...that was all my existence.
I was nothing but a shell, a shadow of death trained to ****.
I was the night.

She was warm, shining, healing.
Her spirit shone like a crimson flower.
Her hair was the glowing sunrise that woke me and the fiery sunset that called me home.
Soft, sweet, scents, snow-white skin beneath rose-red locks.
She was alive, vibrant, trained to love life and save it.
She was the light.

One touch.
One act of compassion, an emotion I didn't even know I had.
One act of forgiveness, a foreign sensation that shivered over my skin.
A whisper.
What's the point of chasing after her?

Protector.
That was what I became.
No longer tasked to take life...
But to save it.
Guard it.
Guard the girl with herb-stained hands and a soft heart.
I was no longer me.
I was me, but also...
Her.

I am the knight.
Her knight.
And I will do anything--
Everything--
To keep her light alive.

The little ones, visit us every day
Wiping off the golden rays,

When the supper is served hot
and the grannies rock the cots,
the children return home
silently tiptoe the little gnomes
Its when the grandpas lit their cigars
and silence roams in parks and bazaars
the little ones hop and climb
painting skies, black and fine
they rub off the remains of the sun
and cool off, all its burns
they plaster the yellow, crescent crust
cleaning off yesterday's dust!
Next they glitter the fireflies
Perfectly golden, neat and nice
The littlest one, of them all,
itches, galls and squalls
Gifting us a desired sneeze
Sprinkling over the stars on all!
The stars twist, blink and wink
And beautiful lullabies they sing!

I want to be real, as real is the ultimate goal in the game of obvious. There are purple whispers in my head. In my head. I tip-toe endlessly on the path toward forgotteness, but I am a failure in the efforts of the war against such and boredom. I dance in the savage way of my ancestors, but only in my imagination, for I know I’ll be corrected if someone actually saw. There is not enough time for the waking of the ghost of tomorrow. Beyond the reasonable laying of my lies and mocking the fiction, there is something true to wrap my hands around. I want to be real. My hair is done in a way that it makes instant jokes about gravity. It stand beyond normality like my soul, but unlike my soul, I battle to tame my hair. With every flick of the comb, I remember my marigold childhood. I remember the time when the comb was my enemy, and sleep was my crime. The pain will not wash away from the soda I poured on my head. It burned my eyes out, but luckily, I had a new pair. The internet will help. Yes, my friend named Internet. We go drinky drank around the corner, beyond the grazes of normality, like fireflies in space. We dance in the moonlight, partly because it is cliché, partly because I want to know the feeling. I make my own opinions about my life and my situations.

Whisper whisper. Is that the call of reality? I am not here today, so leave me a message on my wall of ecstasy.  It is painted the same color as my nails, cobalt blue and metallic grey like that kiss from Japan I kept hidden from everyone, except my other self. The streaks of conniption flutter by on wings made of the abyss. I can’t help but stare as they float by, for I can’t catch them. I can’t catch them, but I don’t lose hope for the future. I want to be free of the pinks in my life, for they are my night terrors in stereo. I want to rid myself of the oranges as well, but they are necessary, so I tolerate them. Have you come to make me real? I can see behind your eyes. You are intrigued. I want to wrap my fingers around your violet locks and make a rainbow for the future. I don’t like the way ginger kills all that is beautiful, it is not invited to the party hosted by the voices in my head. The world mourns around me constantly beyond the written understanding of how things should be. Yet I laugh. I laugh. I laugh because I am empty inside. Where is my symphony of light and imagination? I imitate these feelings with song. I pass these feeling like a disease through dance. Whisper whisper. Shimmy twirl. I have a secret too.

Why
Do
I
Enjoy
Yuri
Manga
So
Much
These
Days

He often rejects to talk passionately
when he insecures I won’t anticipate
about his plain day
or his current read
or the cosplay he dreams to wear
or the animé figure he recently bought
or just
his absurd thought two seconds ago.
Little did he know
I’d negotiate every inch of mine
just to forever listen to his chatters
that actually send electricity to my bloodstream.
I wonder
what had the universe conspired
to create this worthy man—
my one stable force
and make me fall in love to him
even deeper.

Don’t say you hate it
Without having tried it first.
Hell, you might like it.