Practiced hope becomes the sermon we preach —
Seeking justice, and trying to live peaceably; but
Even peace has weight — bone, muscle, presence;
And some days, I feel so lost in this present.

Slipping into reflections, my mirror-skin cracks.
When all the smiles I wear shift with the script —
All these different moods, and a different cast.
The broken hands of time can't be set in a cast,
Yet we keep fishing for love, throwing out our
Hearts, trembling hands; hoping it's a good cast

For youthful exuberance — my crustacean lips
Would sometimes sound cleverly selfish.
Saying I want everything, but never speaking  
The language of real and given effort.

Still, everything you long to hold completely
Asks for patience — love, answered prayers,
Dreams and hopes —lest they drift from us,
Being quiet as uncast lines on still water.

Sacrifices
Painful, yet worthy.
Exist in every aspect of life.
As a child,
some fun if health doesn't permit.
As a teenager,
sacrificing extracurriculars to fulfill parents' expectations.
As an adult,
leaving passions to drown in a stressful job in order to lift responsibilities.
As a partner,
sacrificing one’s own wishes to prioritize partner's likes and dislikes.
As a parent,
keeping personal luxuries aside to uplift children happily.
Sacrifices—
even though seem tough to do,
give a sense of calm and content after seeing later results.

Dust off my feelings — I could say
     I’m a little rusty when it comes to love,
so please… forgive me.
With all these needs and wants, I don’t want
to seem so needy — believe me! Sometimes I feel
like the memory of other people, a name echoed
in stories but never fully seen. I guess the fantasy
of connection never really ends. I loan myself
abundant confidence — but only in my heart,
and even then, only vaguely. Behind the irises,
tired eyes rest on the soft outlines of what
the mind believes it can finally see. To participate
in finding oneself… it’s a gruesome search party.

My floodlights are filled with a bit of drought —
shining outward, but lacking what flows within.
I’m strolling where I never had the courage to step,
everywhere I turn feels like a new pressure.
I give out my heart, but don’t have much of a chest
to hold it — barely a ribcage to defend it.
Yet still — there’s treasure in this tenderness,
a worthwhile chest of purpose hidden in the pretending…
of escaping real life. But here I am, in real time —
taking the first step.

"The deepest life lessons come from: mistakes, trust breaks and
realizations."

Let’s sow the memories in the field.
In the warm darkness, the past is not judged, and peace will come by avoiding the dazzling light.
Scattered pain will bloom into flowers.

All the unloved wounds will become daffodils.

I will come to love those flowers.
                                                       Hana.M