#infp
My poetry. My wishes. My vision. My hopes and dream. My love. My silence. My unwanted solitude. My heart.
My scattered realities and my complete imagination. Through the cracks of the former I grasp glimpses of the latter. On the quiet separated isles of those floating parts I sit, in the dark, looking over the black water at the half-open shadow door.
Stream of black blood of loneliness flowing from underneath me, forming my shadow, down into the water under my empty soles.
My closed eyelids and opened eyes. My scarred face. My quiet frozen fire of soul.
My fallen tears and my opened chest. My blindness. My anger. My sore forehead. The open gate of my brows. The river of sorrow.
My waiting. My salvation. My ennui. My swinging legs. My confused eyes. My empty mouth. My calm black pupils. My empty gaze.
The bridge being built above the surging flood. My naked feet. My tired toes. My wrinkled sole. My empty fingers. My longing palms. My yet unechoed song.
My light. My reignition. My arrival. The bottom of my gaze. The terminus of the river. The faint strength in my fingers. The overlap of my void physicality and the illusory unknown.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 11:42 AM UTC
A little black puppy
At my tentative greeting
Wagged their tail surely.
Then, rushed into my arms passionately unreservedly
Giving me countless kisses all over me.
Your little body against my skin and clothes,
How warm
How soft
Like the spring sunshine,
Like tears of joy.
So that adults and children not far away screaming in fear at your nearness
Saddens me
As I turn away
I already miss you.
Your warm, slightly burning body.
Your softness.
Your gentle fur rubbing against my skin.
The dust in your hair was left on me
Clean water will bring it back to the world once again
And as you roll around on the ground with your friends again in your family's displeasure
It will come back onto you again
In my dreams tonight
You'll be a hundred times larger
Your hair will grow so long to burry me in it
In our adventures in the dark forest
You'll protect me surely
As sure as how you wagged your tail at me.
We'll meet again
All the puppies in the world
We'll meet again
That day,
I become you
You become me
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 11:39 AM UTC
Lonesomeness is like hollow, transparent tubes coiled within my flesh.
My flesh can neither fill nor touch these empty spaces.
In them, piercing, whistling winds run through.
I stand on the ground with these tubes, with my mouth half open, fingers hanging bewilderedly in mid air
Bereft, at a loss, helpless,
Not having a clue.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 10:53 AM UTC
I am a quivering puddle of melancholic, sorrowful water
Held by God in its palms in front of its chest
My black candle burns alone
Light of tears
Wax water of shadow
The flickering silent candle light
In the lonely corner
Rides the seas of my tears
Falling into the firmament beneath my feet
And the abyss above my head
God clasps its hands into its chest
Where I melt
My philosophy shimmers faintly in its chest chamber
My lips that know a thousand languages are tightly sealed
My pupils that glow with flame gaze into the depth of the darkness in my eyelids
I sit in silence
Like a one-month-old melancholic child
Angry force pounds from my silent body into the white-grey land of existence
My infantile body sits in silence
Unable to be compensated
Unable to be consoled
My cotton shirt is full of flower seeds
That are also silent
Imagining the mountains
Imagining waves of hills
They are nourished by the imaginations
And blossomed all over me
I stand up
And turn around
To face the faintly blue white radiance
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC
There is an ant lying quietly on my sink
Its body, so small, so tiny, so innocent
Its limbs so deeply relinquished, powerless
Its head tilted to the side
So peaceful and tender
Making it look like a baby in deep slumber
I, a giant body, gaze at the little tiny ant
In infinite tenderness and compassion
Softly collecting it into my arms, rocking it in imagination
I blow on to it
Its tiny antennae sway up and down, gently, lightly
Hi there, tiny little ant
See you, tiny little ant
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 10:47 AM UTC
The signals of the itch
Like occasional asteroid explosions in the distant universe—
shrill,
Abrupt,
Then slowly subsiding
My body feels like a giant telegraph tower
Surges of radio signals sent with electric wave sounds loud and quiet on and off all over me,
I watch
Quietly
A bit lost
Like a bewildered giant
As if my body doesn't belong to me
As if there is a confidential mysterious exchange between it and something that's totally oblivious to me
I watch
Like an innocent outsider
I listen
As the exchange continues on without abating
As I fall asleep
All the lights still flickering
All the sounds popping on
Bright and dim
Sharp and blunt
Abrupt or consistent low humming
A giant building of sparkling sensations
The black medium of the universe containing planetary detonations
On and off
Here and there
Now and then
I awaken,
In the morning
To a quiet body
I don't know what has happened over the night
I don't know about the progression of the exchange
Has it finished?
As I wonder,
The signals quietly reemerge,
The sounds rerise.
I get up and off my bed
Now I'm a walking telegraph building.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 8:20 AM UTC
My eczema is climing me like creepers climbing a wall
It is always reaching further on my surface
Where is it going?
As if it has a mysterious destination that has always been just right out of reach
It looks all pink and explosive
Like still fireworks
Frozen on the surface of my skin
Frozen
Like oil paint tossed into my skin
And paused there then
For now we have to live together
Me and this vibrant, electric plant
"What is the significance of your appearance?
I ask of it
It stays silent,
And still.
Breathing,
Through its quiet, pulsating itching
I have to refrain from touching it
Its poisonous, tiny, sensitive sakura petals
Resisting the lure of its enticing breaths.
It fully presents its existence
Fully open
Exposed
Wide-spread
As if tranquilly embodying its quiet innocence
Peacefully claiming its righteous presence
I watch
In a distance
In wary admiration
Watering it twice a day, carefully
And applying translucent, pure white vaseline
As if taking care of its delicate beauty
It lets me be
Lets me do whatever I want with it
It pays no mind
It shrinks when that's the direction of the wind
And it absorbs the aliveness for growth happily
From when I sometimes give up resistance
And indulge in its inviting fragrance
Then caught by regret afterwards,
When watching its pleasantly enlivened pink existence, charged, ready
And let out a sigh in deep remorse.
Its art embedded, blooming, serenely, above the intricate highways of my running blood vessels
Sometimes I hold resentments against it,
Its pink, alarming, worrisome colors
Its ever-present attempt to lure, ****** my touching.
Sometimes I let it be
Admiring its art
Like how it lets me be
It /is/ like an art
Non-verbal messages are carried within its sudden appearance in my gallery, my body
To be understood, felt, through experiencing, through me
It's a language spoken to me through my skin
It's a gast of wind flared with fire flames blowing through my porous physicality
Leaving fiery marks on my surface
And when my being finishes registering its messages
It will leave me
It will leave the way it arrived
Suddenly
Entirely
Quietly
Leaving my skin peaceful again
Like water restored from ripples of a suddenly dropped stone chip
Back to being a windless mirror
Then will I miss it?
I won't.
Maybe I will,
In my change,
In my poetry
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 8:18 AM UTC
Escape to one's mind is a useful skill
A needed support beam of an introverted person's will
So, hide away, and enjoy the stroll
Because living in the real life often takes its toll
Jan 22, 2022
Jan 22, 2022 at 7:54 PM UTC
They call you judgmental yet frown upon you when you are not exactly like them
They try to pick apart any possible reason for an action you take, a mistake that you make
Then boil it down to their own perfect little answer
Their expectations they hold for others can be grueling with how many hurricanes run through your head, though they claim not to ask for much
To act as if they can see right through you can sometimes be their favorite way to pass time, though of course they don’t know half of it
The strong vibes of arrogance and judging glances they shoot behind your back are enough to suffocate you, but you choose to hold it together with a smile
Until the weakness returns, where you break down and shake
You try to place words together in your mouth, your poems, in your eyes, your soul, anything.. but the largest part of you screaming out remains silent
To expect to be fully understood by another is foolish
For their selfishness and their narrow way of thinking are evidently highly prominent
And far too many complications are forever involved
The attempts to silent your mind unfortunately prove to be futile
A cigarette, one drink after the other take away the gnawing pain that will eternally make its presence known
Moments of happiness turn dark as ash ever so quickly
To laugh at oneself, to lose one’s mind is hauntingly easy enough
In a world where no one truly knows your name.
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 2:24 AM UTC
How do we dare to doubt?
It's because we aren't used to happiness in life
For far too long we have been the ones who give
Maybe, that's why it is so hard for us to receive
We are scared of being backstabbed
Know life as the cruel place without light
We are shy, timid creatures
Coming to be tamed by love
May 2, 2021
May 2, 2021 at 12:03 PM UTC
Obsessive helper
Looking for the broken things
Mending them with tears
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 6:16 PM UTC
I'm worried because I have no worries
I'm afraid cuz
I have no fears
I spin in circles
cuz I never get nowhere
when I wake up
I'm still sleeping
I'm so ugly
I'm in the hall of fame
and for that I feel no shame
I met the real me and then
she ran away
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 1:11 PM UTC
Pink dream, cotton candy
Like a warm-hearted cancer
Snugged in my palm tightly
hushing my nightly distress with an answer.
Gently tuck you in my pillow case
Wish for calming waves to drift me away
Time after time, night after night
Second after second
Heavy-lids say farewell to
Non-existent slumber
Rose Quartz
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 11:43 PM UTC
Until an old photo comes across your eyes, you will never cherish the little pieces of time that pass you by.
To experience is beauty, To live is just a waste.
My mind is full of feelings. My heart is full of feelings. There is no logic to me.
I am art. I was designed by an artist. I was first crafted in the womb. My thoughts are put on paper and become art too.
Life is art. We create moments and memories. Our art is often a photograph.
Feelings are art.
The way you decorate your home is art.
Singing the song you love is art.
We are all artists. After all, we were designed by an artist.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 12:58 PM UTC
Here, have a dime,
My two cents by Five:
You're not that sublime
When it comes to being alive.
You slam some door and claim your might;
Not impressed by how you've dared
To shut the doors and scream to fight;
You're the kid that's truly scared
Of all the things you can't control,
All the things you'll never know;
Not fear nor anger will fill that hole;
Even roots must break dirt to grow.
You're stuffed in far too small a space;
Cramped wings find no room to fly;
Sometimes I wish you'd have the grace
To just let go and simply cry.
So much lost in the fear of being wrong;
A self-fulfilling prophecy in every song, when in point of fact:
There's more to life than being strong;
Your inner child's got a cataract.
You're the match that sets yourself aflame,
Because somedays you still need to feel;
Anything less would be far too tame
In this search for something real.
All I know of timeless wealth
Is how to give a loving hand;
We have to be the one to see ourself, but
By your side I Truly stand.
To speak of what's true:
If every fear is just projection
Then if I am to question you
Surely I speak to my own reflection.
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 9:10 PM UTC
Guess you're gone again
Watched you walk away;
You always said breathe out then in;
Know you'll be back someday.
Same seeks same to find its home
Not meant to chase the vogue
Some souls are surely made to roam
Rebel always chooses Rogue.
And rebels need a reason
We can’t abide bad laws; yet
Against the heart there is no treason
When standing for a Cause.
Always loved unspoken things
Like the thrill of open sky
Every bird must find its wings
To let go of fear and finally fly.
Beneath your chest there beats a fire
A powerful creature that needs to be free
Weave these words into the pyre
This is who you’re meant to be.
And I refuse to be your cage,
Won’t bind your feet or blind your soul
Won’t consign you to dance on broken stage, ‘cos
You’re meant for more than that role.
Can’t hide a sky of stars in a box
Can’t bottle a boundless tide,
Can’t block nature behind black locks,
Though I’m ashamed to say I’ve tried.
If you must fade to find your grace
Because you’re made of art,
Just know you always have a place
Wherever waits this heart.
So,
You’re always free to go, and
Seek each untraveled road;
Build your dream abode.
Just please hear this song
That I’ve been singing all along:
I’ll always prove your fears were wrong, for
Some things will not erode.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC
I won't play by the rules of the game; hate will not become me. If you ever go into that darkest spiral where you feel you are a grenade and so you push everyone away and then feel that next wave of despair that is utter loneliness at the seeming-realization that you have cut out everyone you love in your life - if that ever happens to you and you reach that stage of existential loneliness in a vacuum of infinity - you're not alone. You're not abandoned. It will not push me away. If you ever feel like you're unreal, come find me. I'll always listen.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:08 PM UTC
Is anyone real out there?
What a horrible question to tear
Apart this life,
Which always rhymes with strife
Because there's a limited number of ways
To say we're running short of plays
To fill these broken days
I don't think I'm better than anyone
I don't think I'm magically The One
But I also don't feel real
And here's the whole spiel
Maybe these bones are made to rust
At the intersection of fear and trust
'Cos all this pain is just reflection
Every fear is just projection
Insanity - I cannot condone
If we want to be free, do we have to be alone?
Whatever else is true, whatever ways I'll rot -
I truly love you; words are all I've got
The 4's attachment is being broken;
All that's expressed is just a token
I can only show the 2d shell
And so I Truly wish you well
But I'd sooner save you from this spell
Hey broken one: are you reading yet?
This is for you, so don't forget
The rhythm doesn't matter
All words will fade, left in tatters
And though this path we can't condone
I swear to you: you're not alone.
You're somewhere amidst the thought and ****
I bid to you: please stop and look
The slightest difference between we:
I'm a permutation of thee
I know the things you cannot say
I, too, seek each shattered Way
Combing The NeverNever every day
For another reason to stay.
I know you fear you've fallen wrong,
But there's meaning in your song;
Long past the end of time,
What's true will shine through every rhyme.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 2:20 AM UTC
So this is what inspiration feels like:
When it's come time to take a hike,
And every fork is a new road to take
Every choice is another path to make
Every word is another leaf to rake
Every thought is free -
What a wonderful gift for me.
The mind is strong, so
No thoughts are wrong
Or out of place;
Fear bites no grace.
To those who choose just love:
Your light outshines the dove;
'Cos for all that you may know,
You still make room for worlds to grow.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC
I could sit and stare,
And bide my time;
Thoughts rip and tear,
And try to rhyme.
Somehow it seems so strange
That though we poets,
Filled with strands of gold or gray,
Can rarely find a way to say
What's truly on our minds;
We're too caught up in the blinds.
Perfection is a savage curse,
But self-rejection's even worse.
Maybe it's okay to be afraid;
You can't pick and choose what to feel;
Know your soul's not being weighed, so
Put pen to page and just be real.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 3:45 AM UTC
I wanna write in the bath
Just to prove I can,
So I am;
No clue what I'll say,
But that's okay;
I don't need an in to win;
I just gotta play.
Language conquers mind;
Maybe we're all too blind
From the search for a metaphor,
A greater meaning, a Something More;
I wonder what we might be
Without the concept of you vs me?
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 3:39 AM UTC
I won't write a story of perfect love,
Where we sing our praise to the heavens above;
Where blue skies fill every day,
And there's no such thing as gray.
I won't write a story with only white,
For there's equal meaning in the night;
Perhaps the point of a plight,
Is to prove you're prepared to fight.
I won't write a story where there's no dark;
For though each moment leaves its mark,
It merely makes the light matter more,
And instills an essence never seen before.
I won't write a story without dejection,
For it could never be true;
But what need have I of perfection,
As long as I have you?
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:48 PM UTC
Perhaps I struggle to find the phrase
To set the strands of your soul ablaze
Because when I look at you, I gaze
Into something so much more
How could any worldly rhythm
Though surely bright and strong
Dare dream define such a prism?
You are more than form; you’re song
You are the sound of the galaxy
Dancing through the sky
I dreamed of such a fantasy
And yet you dreamed of I.
No words, no song, no rhyme
Nor thought, nor dream, nor time
Could ever be enough.
You are my beautiful impossibility,
My miracle, my spiritual key;
You are my partner and my very best friend,
And I walk with you without end.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
How to Be a Poet
(After Wendell Berry)
To be a poet is not just to write poetry. To be a poet is not to refuse to look at a computer screen. To be a poet is not to find some structured, patterned language in which to fit a thought.
To be a poet: accept. Qualia is a term that defines the unique experience of how our senses manifest. We may both agree that this text is black, but how can we know that I see the same shade of black as you do? To be a poet: accept that all perspectives have value.
To be a poet: listen. Listen to the unbalanced grating of the washer machine thrown slightly off its axis; listen to the blanket of sounds caressing your skin as you sit on the bus. Listen to the sounds and dreams of the world around you.
To be a poet: think. Think of the way the tap of fingers feel against your jeans; think of all those little projects you never quite managed to follow. Think of all those thoughts you were scared to acknowledge.
To be a poet: feel. Feel for the smiles and the averted eyes; feel for the lost souls and the newlyweds. Feel sunshine on your face, feel wind brushing against your jacket. Just feel.
To be a poet: dream. Dream and don’t stop. Dream about dreaming. Dream about running away. Dream about getting more sleep. Dream with such reverence that others start to dream again too.
Some days you may not have a pen. Some days you may not have a computer. Some days may be bright and warm, others dark and cold. Being a poet is not about meeting certain conditions; being a poet is about finding meaning in what exists.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:44 PM UTC