yestereve we succame
A lengthy ballad of longing
formerly one of obstinance
flared in a cacophony of passion

Whilst usually twirling in a seemly epitome fashion,
yestereve a caprice thought laid heavy on hearts
as there was no doubt of desire
nor were there objections to her
for even when my affections consumed you
lady desire was just an inexorable

yestereve she picked petals from a Sinensis blossom
there went the pain
any semblance of grudge
along with sanity
reason
and lastly, walls as carefully constructed as that of Pyramus and Thisbe's
such vulnerability unmatched
for your sweet scent lulled me from the arms of reason
for reason, although safe,
is the most intricate and fragile part of the ballad
and the first to fall victim to the cascade

What a fool I must be to have gladly forgotten the kinks of your hands
or the freckles on the back of your neck that form a perfect triad.
The way your upper lip curls when you grin
made my glissade blissful and passionate
Your flustered twirl
the very epitome of aubade

Ignorant of the harsh retombe of reality
Your flustered face En L'air
Every touch a pleasant surprise that formed a grand symphony

A moment of unfiltered emotion
A heavenly ballad
so cruelly of yestereve.

There’s poetry on my walls
Brightening up the halls
I reread one every day
I survey the words as I lay on my bed
Thinking of what I could have written instead
So many words going through my head
In the end, I still place them back up on the wall
Some of them I end up crumpling into a ball
And ripping them off my wall
Then I recall
When I wrote them
And how I felt like a sparkling gem
I tape them back together
Straighten the creases
And taping the pieces
When I look at my wall
I no longer feel small
~21/3/21

I.
I keep looking
I keep drawing
hanging onto memories
miserably
(they're slipping away)
The starless night scene
illuminated by city lights -
a small canvas
I keep at my bedside table.
A Christmas polaroid, a photo taken
by the tree
two years in a row.
The memory of home
it's slipping away.

II.
I keep looking,
keep staring
at the unfamiliar faces
i put up
miserably
trying to connect.
Pretty eyes,
pretty lips,
dimples and freckles cheeks -
I'll never be like them,
I'll never have them
Then what's the point?
to keep looking,
searching for memories
never made
never will.

III.
i don't like empty walls
ugly stains filling a void

is there anyone
to erase it? -
my dark stain -
cover it?
paint it?

nothing can cover the empty walls
nothing
but the memory
of me.

the fire of life
crackles ever fiercely
But hope snuggles in next to me
as I finally let my walls burn
hope is the only barrier I need
between me and life's flames
She's warm and smells like Christmas

I beg of you:

1. Examine me with curious eyes.
Crave to sneak a look within,
to see where the treasures lie.

2. Caress me with gentle fingers --
hold me in such a way
that every touch lingers.

3. Open me, peer into my soul
and study each aspect with care.
Hold each one in the softest embrace
no matter the fright or scare.

4. And this, I ask with all my heart --
love me, treasure me, and all my parts.
For despite appearances, despite my walls,
I am not Pandora's Box.