I take compliments,
like I take sugar in my coffee
not at all
tell me, dear mirror.
how true is this reflection?
i don’t even know.
Living in my sand castle,
with narrow doors and broad windows,
short passages and empty street posts .
Night sky with empty lights,
Moonshine with hollow sighs.
Stuck in this stigma of stepping forward,
living in this chaos of seeping in this sand.
For now I am afraid to breath,
for now I feel my castle is drifting on wet land.
The castle I built seems too small and vile,
to accommodate my expanding life.
I hear the calls from the sea winds,
the wave nearing this shoreline of thoughts in me.
I can smell the fear of shattering today,
wanting to ignore these voices arrayed.
I can look far enough
from these windows of my castle,
But I can't reach them through my narrow doorways.
Would my realities reinforce these sand walls,
when I try to force myself out of this cage of thoughts.
for the times of uncertainty, would you let go of your sand castle ?
I watched you sail away with her
to places so divine;
to paradises I could not reach,
phantoms of fantasies
I could not meet.
I felt a slow,
kick up in your wake,
on sapphire tides,
I watched your ship leave the port.
simmering flames of Hell.
I might've bid you farewell,
if I could just see
the encroaching walls
with the corpses
"You and I."
I heard you're getting married soon.
like mad gnats...
My head: a battlefield
A swordfight of words
from people living
is contained and hidden
in this pretentious smile
a demeanor perfected
Peace gasps for air
for another moment of life
dying from a thousand wounds
Hungry for something
I have never seen before,
my eager eyes scour
pages of books.
Opening several books,
I marvel at the lives and stories
of true artisans of their time:
Xiao Hong, Joy Harjo, and William Faulkner.
I stare at each page,
trying to digest
and imitate their style;
however, my mind draws blank
the moment the blank document
reflects back into
my empty mind.
intrusive thoughts rise
to the forefront of
“How dare you think
you could ever become
a hero like them
without a single reader?”
I finally surmise that
I’m not a poet,
I don’t have the
soulless apartment flat
in the middle of a bustling city,
finding muse in every corner of life.
Nor do I have the freedom
to explore outside’s
as there’s a spike of missing women reports here.
I live in my empty childhood home,
bedroom walls plastered with heroes from video games
as I hide away from my mom’s boyfriend.
Afraid of both the outside and inside world,
I remain still.
I am no writer.
I am no hero.
When life is all about fixing whats wrong
Then everything right, good, and strong
Won't stay, pass by, or come along.
Is it as simple as that?
I’m trying the best I can
But maybe that’s not the right stance
Let me be selfless and pay my dues
But if I don’t pray, would it all be a ruse?
I’m trying the best I can
Or maybe I say that more than I actually am
We speak every day- so you know my path
Not even a decade old- I felt your wrath
To love and fear you
Help me balance the two
I promise I will continue trying to do
The best I can
Every moment I'm with you
I feel faithful and true
Grateful and forgiven
But the devil's work on me
Keeps me up at night so livid
Like crinkled paper
Shoved into my eyelids
Asleep and awake
Dysphoric demonic dreaming
My bones unhinging
As my muscles stretch
With sounds of ropes ripping
If I were to tie a noose for my neck
Is that the sound I'd hear when stepping
Gracefully off the deck
Plummeting into a sea of galaxies and hells
Would I watch over the world I once knew?
Until the time comes for me to settle into
Both or one or the other
The burning roots or the flowing leaves
My flesh impaled or allowed to breathe
To drink golden stench or spit fruit seeds
To wish for solitude or company
Be Agonized repeatedly or live ecstatically
In a pit of ebony flames
Or in a bath of light rays
To be punished in hell
or sent to heaven for praise?
👿 Based on the ideas of death, hell, and heaven in my own religion 😇
Among these hungry passengers
One saps my will to change
One lives my life in retrograde
One grades my every strain
One whispers, urgent “cling on tight”
One drags, hissing “let go”
One sighs at spans I dared not leap
One only tells me no
Yet am I the driver, the vehicle or the road?
Heady with survival, destined to corrode
Clarity eludes me: what’s will, what’s work, what’s way?
Each fumbled innovation, a blindfold duel against decay
I texted him
He hasnt responded in two hours
Hes annoyed at me
Hes not annoyed at you
Hes mad at me
Hes not mad at you
He doesnt want to talk to me
Hes probably doing something important
I dont want to bother him
*Then don't. Hes busy, you ******* baby. Stop whining
A conversation I had with myself.
I tried to fix the italic, it wouldn't work, i'm leaving it.