#descriptive
"there has always been
a gentle hum that
sings from your soul
it brightens the days that
pour rain and soften the dirt
into mud; your smile clears
dark clouds and melts snow
covering fields of grass
but you do not see the
light yourself, no, not at all
you do not see the harmony
within every creature; how
they awaken at the sound
of your laugh, the crease of
your smile, and the warmth
in your heart
the clouds you uncover never
leave your side and the rain
never stops pouring over
your head
yet you still shine so bright;
even if it drains you into
a dying bud in the mud
i admire that about you
and i wish you did too.’’
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 12:23 PM UTC
A gust of frozen air passes by.
Sand and silt submit to air.
The ground is barren and bare.
The sky is quite.
Frost creeps through stone.
Warped whistling is abound.
Distant wolves howl.
Atop a frozen lake I stand.
My clothing ***** to the wind.
The ice breaks.
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 3:37 PM UTC
They say that choices made
(Be it by yourself, others, or nature)
Can drastically affect how a
Single
Person’s life plays out.
It’s quite like the ocean that you sail on now
With the seawater swaying
Back
And
Forth
Or in
Loud
Violent
STORMS
Fate works in mysterious ways
It could be high tide at one point in the day
And then later show you
Beautiful things
That were previously
Under Water
You can feel at peace one second
Bobbing
^ Up ^
And
v Down v
And then
PAnICKinG -and- DRowwnIING
The next
You inhale deeply
Breathing in the salty fresh air
The sharp cold cuts through your lungs
…it’s painful…
But you Don’t Mind
You Don’t Mind your red cheeks
Or the crashing waves
Or the rocking
Back
And
Forth
You only Mind having to
Leave your
|Home|
-But-
We’ll see,
We’ll see.
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 6:01 PM UTC
Flutter above a gentle breeze
Nectar of life and day
In floral blue sea
Colors abound array
Melody beating wings
What flying free brings
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 1:25 PM UTC
I came first
I keep a golden life within me
I am pale,
Cold
Yet I am delicate and may crack!
If I am broken
My treasure will be taken
It will sizzle
It will burn
My pale husk will be tossed aside
While my golden life is devoured
If only I was the chicken
Not the egg
Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 10:24 PM UTC
In the hazy syrup of my dreams, I’d wake,
To the sighs of a sundown, faintly cold;
And hummings from the goldfinch perched
on midsummer grass, wet with dew.
The sky made me recall the streaks
Of Doldrum colored blues; Lingering,
Like that sap, along the stiffened Yarrow.
Or an oak grove down the yonder field.
Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 10:11 PM UTC
I dreamed my way here
I’ve had my cringe moments
I feel pressure, I lose perspective
I’ve wholeheartedly failed
I misspeak, underthink, overreact
I try to do the right thing
the right thing isn’t always clear
I’ve tried to hold on
I’ve let go with grace
I’ve charged ahead
I’ve stepped aside
I self-sabotage, then try to do better
I’ve self-consciously retreated
I’ve stood up for others
I’ve backed down and apologized
I’ve rinsed and repeated
I’m a chameleon, but I’ve never been perfect
I’ve under-reacted to challenges
I’ve overreacted to the ordinary
I devalue likeability
I indulge the language of play
I share my human experience
I don’t know what else to say.
Mar 21, 2024
Mar 21, 2024 at 9:32 PM UTC
You are the pure soul of 5 year old girl
awed by the infinity of the starry sky.
You are the poetry that I humbly try to translate into words.
The scent of your neck intoxicating my senses,
The bad girl tempting one to sin the sweetest sin of all.
The magic number of our passion, old Chinese symbol that finally
reveals its truth.
Sweet flirt and ***** thoughts,
Eyes and eyelashes,
The fear of my fears.
A forest baby doe scared and confused
in the jungle noise of animal screams,
The idol in my dreams
My thoughts are like butterflies landing on your ******* your neck, your back, fluttering up and settling on the bottom of your tattoo, crawling below…
the texture of your soft skin and the hairs on your legs standing on their end.
You are the Flamenco music that I can’t listen to anymore, the guttural songs linking us to our primal ancestors, drums and clapping like the whole world applauding for you and me.
The love chart that tells it all.
The day you held my hand, in front of fifteen hundred people,
And the most beautiful scene,
alone in the cinema stall, touching an irresistible image imprinted in your mind.
Transparent lies that make me smile,
temptations away, the love that we seek where we can’t find it – sweet irony of life.
You are the punishment you beg for being a bad girl,
Your risks, masochistic game that makes you feel alive,
a life feeling like running fingers through hot coals.
Your unrestrained dialogue with your sub-conscious,
painful and rich,
open window into your soul for the magician to read it.
The power outside me and you that has connected loose threads of our hearts, the Yin and Yang clashing and meshing like two birds becoming one.
You, wild beast unafraid to devour yourself and your pray at the same time, fearless, insane, addictive.
The dream of holding hands.
February 2, 2013
Aug 26, 2023
Aug 26, 2023 at 11:15 AM UTC
Chaotic winds
whir and wail all day
skewing clocks and towers
ponderous footsteps
of pumpkin
tainted night
twisted space
scattered light falls
like blades of rain
between the evergreen
a mutual transmission of
unusual potential horror happening
whirl of emptiness
a dead river
bone-eating road
murky sound shimmers
gradually from the strings of mirage
spatial queries galore
skeletal fingers pressing on pain and sores
chaotic winds herald
a slightly terrifying
muddied scene
contorted space
meager light pierces the dark
galloping horse flows into sight
dreams begin
festival and fantasy merge
clamor of dust disappears
silence after the explosion
a sole survivor
quiet gladiator
battle garb cloaked in endless skies
regalia of stars
tamed shadowy beasts of forest
strong sounds of symbols
breaths sink into deep sea
below the bed at midnight hide
a starry dream
swimming fish
drifting silence
translates wandering wraiths
into undecipherable scripts
on stones of grave.
Oct 31, 2021
Oct 31, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
The lake is little different
chlorella puts a green coat on her
when the wind comes
thick ripples appear
remnants of lotus and withered reeds
some pierce up the sky
some bow to the water
the branches of willow on the shore
still they keep the same demeanor
they like touching the tip of your nose
sometimes you bump into their arms
little surprises await in the cold
of wind and drizzle
you walk slowly on the periphery
in the fine rain of the morning
vivid knotweed guarding the mound
lettuce offers four-petal florets
radish flowers are not in full bloom yet
though the rain of last night
is still hanging around the corner of your eye
the lively vegetable farm by
the lake doesn't lie
little cabbages aren't afraid
when we lean forward we see
it is a fun-sized garden.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:19 AM UTC
My life has become a bit like a fishbowl:
the glass is thick and durable, it's supposed to
be smudge-proof, but you never fail to leave your finger-
prints behind. There are rocks at the bottom, a blend of neons:
blue and orange and pink and green and yellow, painted with the
cheap kind of paint that eventually chips away and gathers at the tip-top of the water...always mixing in with the the flimsy food flakes you toss in at mealtimes before watching with disinterested fascination as I swim to the top and sort through what's edible and what's not, as if the food is much better than the chips of paint and the dust bites that gather after a few days of sitting on the counter. My bowl stays in the sun as though the pink and purple fake plants you've given me require time spent in
the light to grow and prosper, although it is fun to check every
now and then to see how much you really care when I let
myself drift to the top of the water to bask in the glow
of either the sun or the artificial lamp that's been
placed next to my bowl. Some nights you
forget to turn it off, but I don't mind
so much because at least then I
can watch over you at night
the way you watch over
her, instead of me.
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 11:47 AM UTC
Take me under the waters and deep into the mountains
Leave me to wander this life I could’ve never imagined
The night sky glittering with stars and campfires lit so bright
Fresh cold air mixed with relief like the 4th of July.
Unshackled souls let free into the night
Walking farther away, the moon our only source of light.
With tingling lips and shaking hands that explore
the warmth of that you desperately adore
Safe and guarded in your arms I lay
But the sinister smile is something i could not face
As I lay in the pool of my own omission
realization dawn. My own poor decisions
Never to trust and never to follow
I lay in white walls and beds so shallow
I am but an epiphany of your dreams
Someone unspoken someone unseen
Dec 4, 2020
Dec 4, 2020 at 7:21 AM UTC
I sit on my back with my legs high in the sky,
I sit to find, I am on a wet and musky
rock , I sat once and found pale grass,
while now the rain like storm sprouts life like annual grass.
A storm that strikes thunders on the ground,
each space is submerged into a dark and deep sound,
while water aggregates in rivers,
the worlds of people enter bedcovers.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 8:07 AM UTC
The color of Queens
The light shining through temples
Carpets so extravagant, it’s like walking on sunlight
Fires, filling the rooms with splendor
Glints of radiance, shining off of girls’ dresses
Power, money, wealth
Old Roman princesses
Jewelry, hidden in golden hair
The smell of metals, dusted from the earth
A fairy forest, shimmering with magic
Untold stories of riches once great
Crowns so refined they could melt
A raw yearning of elegance
A color so deep, it is invaluable
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 12:46 AM UTC
Silver and still, dull and bright, soft and light.
Reflecting all the lights of the world;
Rocks dug from the crust of Earth.
A metallic taste of veins filled with wine-colored blood,
And the smell of household cleaning supplies.
Crinkles and pops of popcorn and cereal stacked in cabinets. T
he creaking of a door and raindrops on a tin roof;
The chill of a brisk wind,
Taking away the heat of a summer day.
Letting planes fly, as light as a feather,
Taking us high above the clouds to distant cities.
When it was found, how could we know;
The treasures it gives us now.
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 12:40 AM UTC
I look at you and wonder,
How soft those tendrils feel,
Always pulling me asunder,
Pulling my mind to heel.
The looks you gave,
The depth of your eyes
Made my heart cave
As I reached new highs.
As if like pools of wisdom,
I'd willingly drown in them,
Feel my desires through a prism,
And allow fate to condemn
My hidden desires.
As they come and go
I seek not to douse the fires,
I'll leave the embers to glow.
Watch them light the night sky,
With a childish curiosity.
Against the damp ground, I lie
Carried by my precocity.
To share this
Would be wonderous,
This unadulterated bliss.
I'm left feeling ponderous.
Until such time,
I will lie here
Listening to the wind chime
As the embers disappear.
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 1:47 PM UTC
A clear Sunday in early May, hitching on the back of your old bike, the sun blinking sluggishly through verdant, street-side trees.
You locked up against some railings, pushed the door with a jangling bell. Our fingers found each other across the aisles.
The shop smelt of must and lost decades. Dusty sheets threw spectres over looted treasures from long-gone homes.
And the gems we found: two candlesticks winking from the corner at the couple – the final touch to make this thing whole.
Ten months of us. Too soon to be playing house, playing adults. Bold and brassy, those brave turrets gleamed on our mantle with:
my wooden elephants,
and your expensive speakers,
and our broken radio,
and my loathed incense,
and your tacky books,
and our pointless arguments,
and my guilty frustration,
and your resentful adoration,
and our ******* mess.
Eight months too long, staring at the bold brass and hating them, making them home in boxes labelled Yours and Mine and What a Waste.
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 11:39 AM UTC
hi. this past week went by like
a half forgotten dream: the time
passed too quickly,
i did very little and
i seem to remember the time i slept
and dreamt better than my
waking moments.
my mind has been scarce of
creativity and
even thought - though
i am healthy i feel
quite lifeless.
today is white and
dull, days like this
sometimes feel like static, like
the world is buffering,
like
the time has come to a halt.
i don’t usually miss the sun, but
these days are dull to
begin with.
i sit all day staring at screens and do
not much else - i’m growing quite
tired of it. but
on days such as these i feel
i barely have a
choice, so here i sit writing to you
and i am not all displeased.
at least i can say i wrote
today.
but what will all of this writing
come to? maybe
a poem, or a love
note, or a memory. or maybe
it will be something i can
look back on,
and giggle at how
silly
and sentimental i am.
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 8:17 AM UTC
To judge, to write
to scribble in the daylight
and crumple at midnight
To account for placid instincts
with the strength of an eagle's sight
The blue ink, the golden pen,
and the satchel white
That is all my birth-right
✒️
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 12:08 PM UTC