#observatory
you know our observatory minds
hide behind accusatory eyes
reading from statutory lines
stealing glances, stealing lies
borrowed for another time
projecting further our own demise
you know we live on borrowed time
little can ease our troubled minds
it’s hard to know where a feeling lies
in the attic or in vacant lines
i can’t look you in the eyes
it brings me pain: my own demise
but it seems you know the truth
that we’ve wandered in our youth
that these days we’ll come to rue
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 10:50 PM UTC
Funny
but not in a polite way
Witty
Daring
Razor-sharp
Basking in a round of warm-beer-belly laughs
Pillow soft
No-man's land
Lay down your weapons
on my shoulder.
Confident
Never bossy.
An everyday diplomat navigating courtesies
A heard point.
Attractive
******
On
my
own
terms.
By
my
own
rules.
Liked
or unliked
The choice is theirs
I have little time for it.
To be all this at once
or not at all
on my count
Take aim
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC
You are a sentence uttered quietly
Hollowly
Under breath.
You are on-show from the flashy coffees to the rushed sandwiches swallowed whole, to the bottles of wine spontaneously indulged on on the commute home.
Yet you have never felt so hidden.
You make people feel things they don't want to feel on these errands.
These pointless tasks that amount to all.
Guilt
Shame
Annoyance
Discomfort
Concern
But there are more of you now than before.
A whole library of the same sentence.
The reply is always empty.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC
there is no other way than to describe him through his height.
he’s identifiable through his tall figure, standing above all
all eyes on him.
he has attracted all including her,
her eyes diverting to him any minute they can.
her dark pupils choose to muse at him, even when she chooses not to.
he was irresistible, that was without a doubt;
can you really blame her?
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 8:01 AM UTC
he carefully traced his brush along the canvas,
its stem daring to fall from his fingertips.
his strokes were gentle, and when he mixes his colors he made sure it was the right one.
his splatters were all around the corners
but he’d go back to fix them.
he gently brushed his finger across her cheek,
his fingers weak, threatening to fall.
his touch was serene, resisting the temptation to scar her again.
the times he would make a mistake were uncountable,
but he’d always come back with an apology.
neither were perfect, and at the end of the day
his artwork was the one he loved more.
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
day by day, my fondness for him grows and grows.
i’d catch myself looking at him more, paying attention at every little thing he does.
i’ve gotten over him, the other boy.
he’s grown useless and left a hole in my heart.
it’s not just me who’s catching feelings for him;
but her, too.
and at first, we talk about him because we both adore him.
and now, when she’s grown closer to him,
i suddenly hope her feelings will go away
and that they don’t end up being together.
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 7:56 AM UTC
possibilities of her liking him the same way i do.
possibilities of him liking her back.
possibilities of him never noticing me—ever.
possibilities of me getting hurt again, like i always do.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC
i admire your features day to day from afar, noticing every speckle that would add or go by.
i listen to the way you speak to others, how you’d put your words together.
your laughter is like a lullaby i'd love to fall asleep to every night.
it’s so hard to let you know how much affection i have for you.
i guess for now i’ll just love you from afar.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
take them while you have them.
they can sit right in front of your eyes,
or they can be as far as a thousand miles right behind you.
they’re not hard to find, but once you do, they’re a rarity.
to speak or not to speak.
to close the gap or to not.
take them while you have them
before they slip from your reach.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
him, the one with lengths of broken black hair.
him, the one whose smile ever barely arrives.
him, the one whose feelings are hidden deep within.
there wasn’t a conversation we’ve had together;
not even one
and yet when we are in the same room,
and we are breathing the same air,
and our eyes are driving around together,
i am reminded of why i like him.
and how he manages to make my heart go pitter patter,
but at the same time break it.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
it’s the way you catch my eyes when i look at yours.
it’s how your eyes bore into the back of my head without my knowing.
how you’ll be behind me, standing there as your presence grows.
though not a word you’ve spoken to me,
the drumming of my heart grows louder and stronger every time you pass.
no big gestures were needed for me to fall more and more for you.
all i needed and ever wanted was to have you near me;
not touching me, not kissing me with your soft lips,
not telling me romantic sayings,
but just there.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
****** … oh, ******
a precocious young child.
fourteen years of age, regularly chasing field boys.
plaid skirt waving; red braids swinging.
not a care in the world.
up until his arrival, you’ve been … in your own world, minding nothing.
he caught your attention, as you caught his.
it was a sin.
yet a sin worth doing.
thirty years of a crack in between.
neither parties cared.
the only thing that mattered?
your living, breathing curiosity;
and thus, your liking for him.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:11 AM UTC
dreams are weird. they’re like experiences that you think are true, but are not.
dreams are barely lucid. there are bits and pieces you can remember, and then you can’t.
dreams are perspective changers. you can no longer see the people around you the same way again—
not if they contribute to a disturbing dream you had.
dreams are painful. if you fall in it, you fall in real life.
it’s an out-of-body experience.
i hope to have better dreams;
or dream no more.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
her medium was a bucket of paint
brushes sprawled all over her plastic-covered floor.
her spinning chair would be splattered with reds and blues,
and her face would be purple.
his medium was his grandfather’s camera
a roll of film ready to be used.
it was old, yes, but he swore the photos taken would never age.
they had their own definition of art.
they used different instruments.
the way they perceived the world was different.
but if there was one thing they had in common
it was that they had fallen deeply in love with each other.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
“sweet, you can’t ignore this fact.
there isn’t an enough amount for us to tell you how much of the truth exists.”
“but i still have hope.
i have hope for someone who i know will never be mine —
but i have hope.”
“don’t.
for your heart will shatter.
he is here.
he will not break your heart.
do not deny his love for you.”
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
you can’t blame the way he looks at her.
the way his eyes trail from the roots of her raven hair,
to the very strands,
down to the tip of her sculptured nose,
inching the corners of her pitch black eyes.
her lips were pink like watermelon,
and so were her cheeks when she sees him.
she was like art to him,
and he loved every bit of her.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
they smiled, they laughed.
the more i saw them together,
the more i understood
how the chemistry they had were undeniable —
it was like no other.
they stared at each other like they were art.
they talked and talked, words escaping their mouths like the world was to end.
their world only revolved around each other.
they felt alone, like they were the only ones —
nothing could break the barrier.
because he completed her half, as she completed his.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:06 AM UTC
“smile,” she said.
“do a leap,” she said.
the flash didn’t once blind
the pupils that contained sorrow,
for she knew the polaroids
were to be burned in the fireplace
by Christmas.
and yet no splash of filter
could ever hide her smile of no reality.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 8:42 AM UTC
it’s when your mind wanders off elsewhere.
your eyes roll to the back of your head, every sight blurry.
the only color you can see is white —
or black.
you have lost all control of your thoughts
and you can think of anything.
you want to escape
but you can’t.
and soon, you are crying for help.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC
human bodies intrigued her like no other.
how the limbs worked
how the precious gems connected to one another
how euphoria would hit her just by a single touch.
so she tried.
she tried
and she tried
and the outcome was nothing like she expected.
disappointed was to say the least
in pain was to say the most.
liking it not one bit.
it hurt.
but at the same time, it felt good.
all she knew was that she would never,
not once anymore in her life,
would she be curious of his human anatomy.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
there was nothing more she liked
than the sting of peppermint tea
electrocuting her mouth.
it was the most unpleasant,
yet the sensation it gave her
was most magnifying.
nothing like earl grey
or jasmine
or a normal one with honey.
it’s what he liked most about her —
that when the taste of peppermint
entered his mouth,
he could feel her tongue against his.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 8:42 AM UTC
like the melting of cherries
and the dropping of dews,
it dripped little by little.
her waves crashing against
the sand that was her fabric.
she could not hide it,
for her denim no longer clung
onto her lower limbs.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
warm like the heat from the coziness of your presence,
serving as a blanket in the cold winter breeze.
cuddled up with you,
wrapped in your favorite fleece blanket,
snuggled against the fireplace.
hot mugs cupped in my hands,
a flavorful scent of bitter tea steaming off the old ceramic.
in this very night, all i needed was right beside me.
i needn’t look far.
all i have to do is rest my head against your chest, and i’m home.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
i love you like a painter loves his brushes.
how he’d always be careful with them,
taking his time to make his work perfect.
i love you like a photographer loves his camera.
how he’d always bring it around,
wanting to capture every perfect moment.
i love you like a writer loves his typewriter.
how the heavy push of the keys
are what bring him joy —
for he knew how beautiful the outcome would be.
i love you like i love … you.
how you’re always on my mind,
how you never leave my side,
how you love me too —
almost like love loves itself.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC