your love was just like
the soft summer rain
warm wet and slippery
so elusive to my touch
but you quenched me so
when you finally came
and I wanted you so much

until you left me
in the desert
dying in the heat
an for a moment
I thought
wait
his water can't be beat

until I learned
to draw from
my own well that is.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Birds in big cages
So beautiful and rare
I've drawn on pages
To show and share

Am not an artist
But I've done few sketches
Vectors and shadings
Only real eye catches

To me, it looks funny
My drawings are terrible
To see real ones, you need money
Oh and my sketches are horrible

Some say, I've done good
My drawings look like birds
I guess, it's just my mood
Being unrealistically absurd...

©sim

warm weathers with a warmer heart:
i stretched out my arms
and embraced her with all i am.
this girl threw an ocean of words,
of images, of emotions, and even of silence at me
over a mango shake, kimchi fishcake,
and a pair of hot matcha lattes.
she challenged me to a doodle dare
when i told her i don't draw humanity,
as much as i wanted to draw her right there on the spot.
let's draw those people on that side of the cafe
ah, a people-watching activity!
just our kind of hobby that immerses us within society
while being in our own little world!
i noticed she draws people first
then the background according to the proportions of the persons;
yes, a people-watcher observing another people-watcher
unlike me who starts off with the walls and furniture of the space.
she drew the ovals for body proportions;
her pencil marks done gently, focused and magnified,
much like how she holds herself up.
thus we were satisfied with unfinished sketches
and incomplete acapella song covers;
and it definitely was a finished day–
complete with her presence,
photographs taken with cameras and our memory's eyes,
inside jokes about boys and talks about life outside.
the sun is getting lower
as the hour hand is getting higher.

Time continues but we paused.
So I'm up for another round with you, Lou.

On a painting
I know
No white will be as pure
As the page left untouched
And no smudge as dark
As that scribbled in too heavy-handedly
For a need of perfection

I used to draw us together;
graphite lines stretching
across our empty skins.
And like a pattern
we found ourselves connecting
to one another
like tiny constellations.

Then, one day your hands
began to erase away
at the lines that once traced
our pencil pressed affections.

Now, I find myself shading you
the darkest of blues
like the way my heart breaks
on those cold winter nights.

My fingers ache to forget you
as they erratically color
outside your dark lines.

I try to tear up our image,
but cling to our broken pieces
in hopes that they may
come together one last time.

But, they never do fit quite right,
and I draw you out of my life.

his eyes are one of my favorite things about him.
but i can never draw him, much more his eyes.
not even when i try.
i can never capture the way his eyes glow
as soft as a little star when he smiles softly,
or as bright as the sun when he beams.

i can never copy the intensity of his gaze
without my pencil lead breaking or my hand tensely shaking,
in fear of giving injustice to such opened and clear windows
to his beautiful soul.

i can never shade enough to give it the depth similar to reality.
i can never bring out the emotion of his eyes
with my pencils
like the way he does with his heart.
i can never draw the flutter of his eyelids,
the curls of his lashes,
the color of his irises,
or the void of his pupils,
all of which i get entranced and ****** into the blackhole of his soul.

i can never draw him in the simplest way:
his eyes staring at me.
because i can never look into his eyes
or lock gazes with him--
not even with a still portrait.