Three AM When the eyes can close But the minds don't shut They say penguins can't fly But they do In her world, where we lived on clouds Magic and Superpowers Where people were real And not. The dark haired boy whose named she couldn't fix, And light haired Liz, with her tall brother Will. Sleeping in caves, hunger games style Skipping through stories, shifting through worlds Safe spaces, Born within the mind Distort reality when it hurts 'Escape realms' Worlds change from fantasies to dreams To insecurities, hatred and pain But the ceiling remains the same Dull And plain.
We were once well acquainted with the wee small hours adept at navigating neon jungles and the deeps of kitchen philosophies entwined with kebabs and illicit frissons, in vino veritas conspiracies that took weeks to unpick and apologise for but passed
Now, if seen, those hours hold different snags, surrounding plants are far less exotic but familiar brambles cut deep, immutable truths roar when the ***** doesn’t do the talking and morning burrs not so easily dislodged by a full English and a million teas
while writing my speech for a class, i realized something about myself. i was always stuck in the middle. growing up in the philippines, i was too korean to fit it with the filipinos, but i was too filipino to fit in with the koreans. i was never really thin or fat. i was sure and unsure about everything all the time. i never completely found a middle, comfortable ground to stand on. i thought i had a happy place, but i realized i didn't. i was always too lost in my thoughts to make one. i wanna learn how to be comfortable in some place. some happy place where i can rest my head, because my anxiety is not letting me sleep. i wanna learn to be comfortable in my grey zone. i want that to be my happy place. i just dont know how, which i think is a good thing. not knowing can lead to more, deeper answers. i just wish i know when im going to find it.
i haven't written here in the longest time lel i needed a place to i guess vent (?) my thoughts somewhere
When the world is far too quiet and dew has yet to coat the early morning air And you show up as the clock strikes 3 am for the third night this week Slurring in your own stupidity requesting bagels, uncooked with globs of butter The way we always had them all those years ago, all those drunken nights
And you’ll claim love that you so conveniently forget to mention in sobriety Love that we had when we were one in the same The same love that urges me to hold your hair back And nurse you back to feeling okay
Only to stand there stone cold, only hours later to watch you leave In minutes that get shorter with every morning that passes
And as I clean up the only evidence of your visits I pick apart the remainder of what we once called a relationship
Maybe one of these days I’ll take the leap from what’s comfortable into what we need To end it