The dramatic question
..What is
going on with me?
What's happening
in the world around me?

Everything moves
..I follow
and think
about what it means
and the images shift

I bend
..to the wind
which always blows
There is never any certainty
as to what is going on

Our connection,
is a pale moon above
and stars that shine
they are yours as they are also mine,
we feel the grey of falling rain
the warmth of joy
and the chill of pain,
we live we love, we laugh and we die
with the same yellow sun
and the same blue sky

Let me feed you, they say
When they really want to sell
My teeth are barcodes
My bones are meals

Let me heal you, they say
Then they take yet more
Though Im not slowing down
(You can't when you're poor)

Let me show you self, they say
And pawn their own breath away
Enlightened in pure white light
Blue eyes of divine right

Let me educate you, they say
From the vacant room never left
Of fathers' touches never kept
And dog-eared pages of contempt

Let me, let me, let me
As if I am able to escape
Push me, push me, push me
As if its only my hand that shakes
Violently, violently, violently
In a regime ripe to break

Some people don’t feel the heat.
It is because of those who don’t feel the heat,
that the empty paddy fields turn green,
the roads and bylanes stay clean.
the vehicles of noisy people move without obstruction.
Because of those who don’t feel the heat,
non-motorized rickshaws still move,
hand-pulled carts still survive.
Because of them,
gift packets, perfumes, birthday cakes
reach homes on time.
Some people don’t feel the heat,
and perhaps because of them
– even though fire and smoke pour daily from your mouths –
the earth has not turned to ash,
the city has not yet perished.
+++++++++++++++++++++++

Built for the Fire (more than ever)

I could stay numb.
I know how.
I’ve done it—
sat in the quiet aftermath,
let the weight of loss press me still.

It’s safe there,
in the ache that asks nothing.
No risk,
no rejection,
no reminders of what we once had.

But I wasn’t built for numb.

I was built for heat,
for tongue and lip against skin,
for tangled sheets and laughter
that opens something holy inside.
For conversation that strips the armor
and hands that say
you’re not alone here.

So no—
I won’t shrink.
I won’t hide behind the ruin.

I want love again.
Not the edited kind—
not filtered, polite, or halfway.
I want the messy, honest kind,
the kind that sees me, stays, and builds.

I want closeness that burns with truth,
touch that doesn’t just touch skin,
but says something deeper,
says you matter. You’re real. I’m here.

I want to risk it all again—
not because I forget the pain,
but because I remember the feeling.
What it’s like to be alive in someone’s arms.
What it’s like to look across the room
and know: this moment, right now, is everything.

Yes, I’ve been hurt.
Yes, the loss nearly wrecked me.
But I refuse to stay frozen.

It’s human to want love.
To crave the sacred electricity
of closeness, of presence,
of hands and lips and hearts saying
let’s try again.

So if I love again—
and I will—
it will be fully,
boldly,
fiercely.

Because even after all I’ve seen,
I still believe:
there’s nothing braver
than choosing love
when you know exactly
what it can cost—
and you do it anyway.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved

A feeling of uselessness
A feeling of worthlessness
A sense of unease
A deep fear of the unknown

A deep and complicated feeling of distress
A longing for something more, something real
The need to protect that makes us truly human
Desiring a deep connection with a lover
A promise never fulfilled and a love that's over