It is an indescribable setting of a life.
To feel the cool, beginning of each day
rise over your blankets,
stirring the hushed quiet in your bedroom
as your eyelids flutter open
to let clear puddles of shimmering brown,
bathe in the golden tendrils of light
that softly soak into your sleepy, warm skin.
The air is calm, sprinkled with peach colored contentment
and the creamy jade of a flowing solitude,
where, looking clearly, one could decipher
the hidden soft meanings
behind every single swirling, silver moment
that are lost to the confines of a time glass setting and resetting.
To each day, the calendar beckons for the
soft marking of your black felt pen
when you carefully print your signatures of life
in neat, little, swirls that become decorations and memories
of a single person's existence,
a drawn tale and illustration of the warmth flowing
in your body like a river,
and of the steady beat of your loving, irreplaceable heart.
Your footsteps resound through these roots
of the earth, where you tread upon
cracked concrete roads, newly paved pathways,
woven blankets of green grass,
and the worn, familiar brown forest path
that guides you to your little, hidden creek.
Your hands trace the spines of worn paperbacks,
and coax the stiffness out of newly presented books
as you grace them with your open mind,
maybe to one day create your own to generously share
with the world,
one or two of your free, limitless thoughts,
and a piece of yourself.

The fruits of another day
                     have been mashed up
       by my mother's
                treasured mortar and pestle.

   I will gather the
         crushed seeds, and    sprinkle
               them with care
  upon the freshly baked

           fluffy, strawberry
                          faith cake

          of which I will slice
                      and feed my family,
     and all of those
             wishing for a bite of love.

                    I will take the
                             sunny, sweet juices,
             drop in a handful
                          of humble tea leaves,

   pour in half a cup of
               fervent longing's
fuzzy, pink lemonade,
  
          a generous amount
  of golden, savory
                 poetry syrup,

and three spoonfuls      of my grandmother's  
            lovely minty remedy
        for calling forth
                           the spicy, sultry desire to live.

      I take my
               Lush Life's Drink
         into the Purple Midsummer Cafe,

   and quench the thirsts
                of translucent, paper people
  tolling throughout
endless
          days and nights,

          solving countless
                      math & society problems,
  writing novels of
      insecurities, acceptance,
& hope,
   
         and every evening,
all gathering at
       the Purple Midsummer Cafe

to faithfully consume    
my
     Lush Life's Drink,

          paying up the small fee of
  a tender smile or so,
         a warm enveloping hug,
                  a handshake of
               gratitude & humility.

I look out the window of my bedroom
that restricts the blowing wind,

and sets the boundaries
from spreading fragments of passion and life,

the sky is an ever expansive tranquil blue
to match the blank canvas of my mind,

and the sea of green grass,
sweep in the fields of emptiness
swimming behind my eyes,

although my heart beats, it seems to have
bursts into silver flames requiring handfuls of salt
to glow fervent shades of rosy red,

and I remember that in books, characters caught up in life
find themselves in rare, warm moments
and in lost, nostalgic, and heartfelt times,

while in my world of white and black, with shades of reality
flinging around paint cans of fraud colors,
I can't seem to find myself,

because I am not allowed to wander outside
onto the cracked, bent concrete of unknown roads
that would take me to a far more different world,

one that I wouldn't have thought to exist out of my dreams,
the dreams I once let my head full of stars relish in,

because I am not allowed to lose myself
in an ocean of people whose goals in life
is to find themselves,

who despite the broken shards of glass underneath
their aching feet
and the spiteful stares received towards the vibrant colors
rebelling against pitiful shades of gray skies,

are people who remember to keep their chins up,
and will forever dance
to the steady, unfair beat of life's rhythm,

but, why do my words always weigh heavy
in my heart like pounds of silver in a world
ruled by gold,

and why do I hold up the goblet of truth
but can never seem to find the strength to sip from it
and peer inside my empty self,

why must my life be put on repeat, and I struggle to rise
from my shapeless bed that every morning holds me captive,
binding me with my handspun bundles of faithlessness
in seeing the white grayness of another day,

and why do I live on slices of self-deprivation
and insecurities
to aid me with staying in the perfect, bony shape
of one who can no longer distinguish where real beauty lies,

why do my thoughts stumble upon each other like strangers
and fail to connect themselves,
as if they were meaningful words sadly destined
to be lost in the wind,

why do they swim around on the ruins of my bravery,
only to be at the end
submerged in heavy rains of silence,

why can I never stand tall on my feet,
and kick regrets away as fast as the changing tides
while heading towards dreams that would allow me
to relinquish feeling everlasting joy and hope,

and of course of all things,

why do I always ponder quietly fading away
to pure non-existence,
as the response to the guilt I feel towards
everything I have the privilege to call mine,

when in the end, I have never even once,
been given the privilege to

call ownership of myself,
of the person who I really am.

Dear love,

Enlighten me with your dreams and beliefs,
I, someone who seems to be lost
and in a daze along with the rest of life
need someone to pick me up
and just hold me, very very close
so that I may hear a heartbeat, as reassurance
that people do have hearts.

And just listen to my troubles,
my sorrows, and my faded will
to patch up my broken spirit, spilling tears
like a bottle leaking boiled, age-old water,
help me accept myself
before accepting the way the world is.

Just remind me to do my very best,
that anything worth having
never comes easy, that's it's this way for
every living creature, no matter what they
may be given as soon as they emerge
into the world.

And tell me over and over again
that things aren't always the way they seem
and whenever I feel stuck like a vampire
suffocating in the eternal sands of time,
I have to force myself back up on my feet
and face the world even if it's a tearful face
or a ****** one.

Tell me to look outside, and see life all around;
observe things like an artist, the swirls,
and shades of clouds and rain,
the vivid sweetness of blossoming flowers,
the frosty pureness of feisty snow and ice.

Appreciate like a giver;
the simplicity of an apple among
the artificial sweets that melt in my mind,
and the smile of a fellow human being,
like a ray of hidden sunlight peaking out on a
cloudy day.

As the world gives up,
leaving us to face the beginning of the end,
please hold my hand tenderly
and whisper in my ear, that you'll never lose faith,
in all our genuine and kind moments
that anchored our souls together,
and allowed us to believe that love,
is never-ending.

I feel many things,
tilting my head to gaze at the sky in the warmth
of bright sunlight on a chilly, autumn day
the sound of faded orange-red leaves
crunching beneath my feet,

I feel like flying,
suddenly feeling the wind lift me up into
the air and so high until I'm far away,
far from the troubles that weigh me down like
the world on Atlas' shoulders, and suffocate me
like manmade islands spreading on the ocean's surfaces,
far from the sounds of people and things
writhing in agony and their endless desires
that are never met before the time of death arrives,

In the clouds, I won't have that sickness
to restrain me from expanding into the horizon,
the sickness that sprouts from seeds of ignorance
and society's flaws, rapidly shooting out into
weeds of choking anger that suffocates my entire being
and distorts my reflection when I put on makeup
and peer in vain at the me in the mirror,

In the pure fields of grass that sweep
the horizon's grounds as far I can see,
there are no dripping wells of bitterness and remorse
soaking into the roots of blooming flowers,
the ones I will pick and offer to you,

in the hopes that you represent
for all of eternity,
for all of me,
goodness and justice,
freedom and forgiveness,
faith and love.

To whoever matters,

sorry for not being able to sort out my priorities

sorry for giving into life's surroundings
and losing myself

sorry for being a disappointment
because I will never be enough

sorry for being a failure
no matter how hard I try and then

sorry for not trying as hard anymore
because there are so many out there who will always be better

sorry for just not being able to give a **** sometimes
because everything important is just pieces of paper
waiting for someone to burn them

sorry for making you work so hard
when I know I'm not worth it

sorry for never learning from my mistakes because
I'm too dumb to figure them out or even remember
what they are to me

sorry for being so mad at the world that I can't
seem to be a positive or understanding person anymore

sorry for hating who I am but never taking the time to reflect
on things and thinking about the things I could change

sorry for being so self-absorbed and centered at times

sorry for being so hurt that I want to hurt every person in the world

sorry for not being in control of my life and

sorry for no longer trying to fight for it

sorry for always having to regret everything
to let anger overwhelm me in the moment and

brand a broken heart on the future's arrival
to the present

sorry for falling into a bottomless pit and
not being strong enough to climb back out

sorry for always thinking about the ending
before taking the chance to live

sorry for not being sorry enough to have
what it takes to get up and try to be
the person I want to be.

What do I call that feeling of being trapped,
from all directions, no matter where I turn
the walls are heavily falling in, and the gates leading
somewhere else are closed on me.
I think at some point, I was on a fragile threshold
containing fresh rebel colors
swirled in humbled and sincere (maybe somewhat dumb,
but original) good causes,
I think I felt an embracement of
others and their incredible flawed love,
I saw a pair of eyes that tried to drink in
the colors of deep sunsets illuminating skies
with a fervent longing for the stars representing
a different Galaxy, despite my poor vision
in the darkness
I've discovered there's a simplicity that's hard to explain
and shape into words or figures clear enough
for them to understand-- because it is,
the most simplest feelings that go by
misunderstood, forgotten, or unnoticed
When I first started to find myself
in the acknowledgment of my flaws and the reluctance
of my rational brain to think, while my mind
wanted to expand and reach out towards others,
I've now come down to the realization
of a lone girl's crushed dreams and longings
even before her life began.

And how,
can you tell me
is that possible

For me, the world is very demanding.
Anything that must be faced
with daily care or a special grace
becomes so very tiring and repetitive.
The warm sunlight
and a soft breeze in the clear blue sky
are on the other side of
my closed, covered windows.
I am rooted to one spot
where it is comfortable in the darkness,
where my problems fade into the
grayness,
where my life is not mine to handle,
and I'm so willing to live another's.
It's hard for me to come out,
it's hard for me to pull myself away
back into this world,
where nothing seems to flow in
a harmony that otherwise seems to
exist in the worlds I discover,
streaming from the screen I longingly
gaze at for hours.
There's something missing,
I feel discontented with what is given
rather than cherishing
the life I have the privilege to live.
It's just in my dreams,
I am living different lives, with different moments
and what's difficult to handle while I'm awake,
is so very easy to brush to the side
with a strength I acquire
from dreaming of a world where
my reality
isn't the reality.

As my spirit soared over
the golden, green landscape
the clouds tumbled and parted
revealing the sun's illuminating rays
onto the earth below,
shining into the windows of the dying
and their will to live,
I admired the peaceful beauty of
the flowing, pale, blue river
gave my blessings to the fisherman
gazing up towards the calm skies
in rocky waters,
rained sweet, soft candy
on the village children running barefoot
alongside the river bank,
the sun became an evening filled with
shades of cool purple
and midnight blue,
and the first of many stars
began to twinkle and glow
as the villagers began heading towards
the heart of the golden landscape,
each treading lightly among
the same ground their ancestors
once walked upon,
one by one,
golden, orange, and red lanterns
filled up the diamond, night sky
each set a glow with the memory
of a loved one's touch and smile
and made unique by
the messages written across
the slip of paper placed inside,
I brushed by and bestowed my blessings
and love,
for the journey of the souls,
once frightening and lonely,
now resonates with the warmth
of humanity's remembrances and love,
during the night of the
Midsummer's eve Lantern Festival for the Souls.

"Have some fire.
Be unstoppable.
Be a force of nature.
Be better than anyone here,
and don't give a ****
what anyone thinks.
There are no teams here,
no buddies.
You're on your own.
Be on your own."

When my eyes yearn for
acceptance, remembrance, and love
my soul will refuse to
let my mind wither away from
disappointments over discovering
that life isn't always
creamy coffee and lovely poetry
and cuddling around a warm hearth
or parking your car in
the middle of nowhere and
dancing underneath shooting stars,
sometimes, it's just
everlasting shades of pain
and grasps of time slipping away
and losing yourself
in a flurry of life around you.
sometimes while living
we feel as if we are dying,
and in those moments
we must have fire
and be unstoppable,
a force of nature
better than anyone else
never listening to others' wallows,
and all of the time,
I am the only person
who can change, move on
and live my life.

Through the rough, cracked, dry hands
of the hardworking farmer
plunging his *** into the rich soil
to provide me with
the utmost sweetest of fruits
and delicacies,

I sense shame, guilt,
and helplessness upon my being
as I spitefully reach
to consume the world of
fantasies and illusions instead.

And all I had ever wanted
was for the world to look up one day
and see my constellation of stars
scattered throughout the Milky way,
and the vast, starry night sky.

One day,
I found myself standing in front
of the ocean
tasting the salty breeze,
hearing the seagulls' shrill cries as they
swooped on the rocks
watching the fiery, plump sunset drown in the horizon,
my feet felt the way forward into cold, heavy currents
my hair whipped around and my face stung with salty tears
I strained my eyes and leaned forward,
scanning the darkening, rushing waves
lapping against each other
in that moment, there were only three things
I yearned for:

the blue in the heart of the ocean
to color my soul

a siren's enchanting, melodic, mournful cries
to put pain in my heart

the emerging, white sea foam of broken dreams and all things forgotten
to envelop my being

and set it free to be lost in the wind.

Go, fade away, standing in the light of the living
clutch the pencil and
trace it over the lines on the paper,
while others scribble real words
feel the numb, tingling sensation
when father talks loudly of his dreams, mistaking them for yours
feel broken and amused
as mother rants about your flaws and non-existent insecurities
sit calmly and silent
as the small town's bearings fly past the window in a blur,
tuck your earbuds in and watch the trees
run from the weary sun rising in the sky,
feel the familiar impatient, lost, lonely sense of despair
trudging behind motionless figures stalking in the hallways,
open the textbook and watch the imposing words
writhe in the light of your brain's uselessness
part your mouth to speak,
only to discover there are no words
to make reality a dream.

Words on a blank page,
I can no longer think or dream
of shining among the stars
and cupping the sunset, to drink from my hands
I caught a swirling, pale snowflake
as it melted into a tear before I could appreciate its beauty,
I feel starved of affection
as I watch my mother endure, my father become worn
I touched a flower that blossomed too fast
stoking its beauty with regrets in the morning's soft, silver dew
in my head, I sit at my desk, alone in the night
watching myself write tears in the candle light,
gazing up at the moon, and all the stars I know are up there,
but never within my weary, aching sight.

Fly free, young girl,
soar high through the air
feel the wind brush your face
and lift off all the world's burdens
you can finally leave all your troubles behind
and feast your eyes on nature's kingdom
and the beautiful, diamond, night sky
you don't have to listen anymore
to their demands and cries
you don't have to cry anymore
from loneliness and fear
there's a place for you, young girl
somewhere out there
and you now have the means
to soar towards your destiny
fly free, young girl,
remember somewhere along the way
how to love and forgive
and remember again the brightness of a new day
and although it hurts
don't forget where you come from
and don't forget
the goodness inside your spirit
fly free, young girl,
and experience for the first time
how it feels to finally begin living for yourself.

As time swirls around,
yet still managing to drain me of my essence,
I now struggle with the strength needed
to read, persevere, understand,
to try, love, and live

Once upon a time,
this person with a book could last for eternity
the characters' light never failed to reach
within to a clumsy, pure spirit
all words were full of beauty, meaning,
and something to shield a hurt, soft, soul
from reality's greater, never ending, flaws

All along, I was completely sure of myself
as a soul of humanity's good,
a warm, comforting light to they
who were lost, with no sense of direction
such as me,

Then, the moments arrive
where a person discovers every flaw of themselves,
where a never ending strength
could morph into relentless anger and remorse,

Where I discover
I am far too much of a
penetrable, ignorant, weak characterized being
lacking a will with enough strength
to rid oneself of even the most smallest fears,

I have grown with time
in some ways others could notice,
although a new, clear view of the world
has its great toll of compromises,

But, deep in the hollow, damp, cave
something has remained the same,

There is a gray, forever shifting
impossible shallowless
that shadows me everywhere
regardless of what I change
despite all the efforts, and how much I try,

Nowadays, I peer with wide eyes into the darkness
and succumb to a lavishly dark thought,
that this must be where
all of humanity conjured up
the elastic, nerve racking, electric,
frightening idea of
a so called fate,

I feel numb,
as if somehow already perceiving
every choice, feeling, action, word, is pointless
as if already knowing
yes, no matter how much you try
some things really are, forever impossible.

I can't discover anything
that will bring a soul
out a creeping, old well full of
densely dark oil,
containing someone with a
slippery grasp on their surroundings

and a very, very
heavy heart

I no longer want to look at words,
they swim in my head
and corner my pitiful, strenuous brain
that tries each day, to make sense
of everything that appears to be senseless,

I'd like to get away
from everything fluorescent and slick, and retreat to the corners
of a wooden, green, world filled with
sunshine, and blossoming,
sharp-witted flowers,

I'd like to take a moment appreciating
autumn leaves swirl in crisp, refreshing air,
rather than having to shiver from the
relentless cold, that each day forces my will
to desire only two things:
my bedroom,
and solitude

I'd like to decide, for once,
what I do,
how I live,
and where I would like to end up.

Once upon a time
in a distant culture,
people's feet were bound.

Although society
has since accepted big feet,

now, it is our minds
that are bound instead.

His feet flew on the track
and he was a blur,
like the emotions always rushing
through his head, wave after wave
of crashing tunes, colorful and whole one instant,
then broken black and white
piano keys the next.

His heartbeat sounded for 16 years,
a deep, penetrating thump in his chest,
sometimes lively and high to the
rhythm of life's beat,
other times suddenly straining
in invisible, dark melancholy of
time's bitterness,
till one day, he decided
no more beat to play along to.

His being engulfed by a
liveliness so pure, his character
so strong, perhaps the cracks
in his drifting soul were
not visible to any being's eye,
perhaps in the contagious laughter
that had always been taken for granted,
there were perfectly hidden, but exposed
rains of nothingness
and sorrowful, wailing cries.

Witty remarks, blissful ignorant jokes,
an easy grin to light up an underground city's sky,
there was definitely warmth
in his hands, color in his cheeks,
blood flowing, eyes shining,
but then like a dark, looming shield,
sorrow overwhelmed it all,
because everything that he had,
suddenly
he could no longer see.

We saw his face, his smile,
every step he took towards us,
a growing, boy of life reaching out,
but how did we miss,
every single silent tear.

Heard him talk like he was born to,
heard his hearty, contagious laugh,
heard his footsteps heading
towards us,
but how did we miss,
the silent cries of help,
and all the steps backwards into
the dark, forbidding, night.

Felt him live, felt him
thrive, ran with him in the wind,
everything coursing through his veins,
but how did we miss,
the sudden urges of sadness,
the sudden urges of loneliness,
the sudden urges of agony
leading to a silent urge of emptiness.

We think about his smile
and look for it,
we hear his laugh, and listen
eagerly,
we feel his footsteps resounding
in the ground, sprinting towards
the finish line; we begin to cheer him on

but when we look up,

he's gone

the seat in front of me is now empty

today
tomorrow
the day after
in all the years to come

and the tears flow
and hearts beat with agony
and silent night cries

us who will always be
remembering him
who can't be forgotten,
remembering him
who can't be undone.

If you look over your shoulder,
you can catch the deep sunset's orange
and violet rays in the crisp, autumn leaves
as they prepare to gracefully fall from heaven's trees
and on to people's humble feet.

If you trace your hands over the
lovely spines
of worn, bent paperback books
you might hear the faint murmurs of
tiny excited character kinsmen,
the heroes and heroines of lost worlds, conquered
universes, and empty bleak, realities.

If you steal a quiet glance at the
person sitting at the table across from yours,
leaning on an arm, hair ruffled
in a dodgers hat, a sweater radiating warmth
and loneliness,
cradling a steaming mug of black coffee,
you'd realize that they are forever willingly
waiting for someone precious to appear
in their lives.

If you somehow find a clean, unpolished mirror
in a case carrying abundant duplicates
of filtered cameras, if you can find the courage
to bring the light up to your face, and if you trace
the lines, freckles, and pinches of red you discover
scattered throughout,
you would know that you are utterly beautiful.

If you hesitate before taking a single step
in your daily routine, if you stop and open
your mind before the flow of words can
overwhelm the space before you, if you can sing
to yourself rather than console a lost soul's cries,
if you can paint specks of color on your fingertips
and draw a smiling, gray sky,

you would find yourself
cradling the midnight blue, obnoxious,
but so sweetening and simple world,
as if it were a lost child who formed fists
to hide its crystal tears...

as if it built a well defined, unyielding
shield, to suffer the deep marks
left behind by the blows
of an insurmountable sadness.

The wine glass gracefully twirls round
and round, and cherry maroon polished fingertips
slightly tremble with coldness, reaching up
to wipe away glassy tears from frosty lashes
cool winds drift in from tall windows left ajar,
gently cradling a long mane of black, shimmering hair

in the white full moon's silver light and
the star's distant twinkles, there is a penetrating,
mournful howl of a lone wolf in the distance
and drops of cooled, flowing tears sinking to
the bottom of the crystal gray lake,
a silent plea for the being in the empty night of darkness
to arrive,

I float on top of my plush, pale violet colored armchair
a lovely book, Wuthering Heights, placed face down
on my lap, a cigar tray with rich, lush scents and
opal colors shining in the lamplight,
but no cigars to be found
the silver clock humbly reaches midnight over
an eternity of jaded, silent emptiness coated over the
stillness of cold air in the spacious room

I sit here, gazing out towards the
winding valleys, feeling a dazed, small tingling sensation
of stifling envy towards the soft, yellow twinkling lights
in the distance,

the old wooden houses huddled together in times of life,
perhaps in that small, soft, cozy village of warmth,
someone is leaning on their windowsill, gazing
at the lone silver-black mansion sleeping atop
a stooping mountain in the distance, pondering
about the very lonely, tear struck, silent person....

pondering about me....

oh, it seems no matter what I do,
I am misunderstood and judged by my flaws,
condemned as if I don't possess a heart,
I am left feeling dazed with a cold emptiness
settled around my chest, maroon painted fingernails
and wine are more beautiful than blood,

*I crave not just a set of arms to last,
but a moment of understanding,
an enlightened place of belonging,
and a warm place to call home.

Oh you,
why do you no longer try?
where has the sense of life slipped away to,
the sudden fleeting but warm and pleasant
moments that ignite a tender sparkle in your eyes,
where is the clear, ringing laugh resounding from
your heart, where went the desire to raise the corner
of your soft, cherry lips in a half- suppressed, bemused smile
why no longer do your hands dance upon the paper,
pressing the dark lead onto the open space consuming
your delicacies of ideas and marks of thriving color,
why ever neglect to gaze towards the fresh fields
and drink in the golden sunset gracefully falling
into your tenderly cupped hands, and let the warm,
sweet breeze kiss your soft, rosy face, let the magical
glowing lantern lights of fireflies light your way home,
let me hear you speak again, your soft, strong, poetic voice
your penetrating, rough and smooth deep words
cradling new inspirations in my mind,
let me see you turn your face to the horizon once again
with a look of enlightened awe and love,
show me again that the world is something to fight for,
that life is worth living and we may die
but we never lose the best parts of ourselves, the ones
we grow into, the ones where we learn how to
value and forgive, love and remember,

Please,
**show me again

that life is worth living.

And all I can recall
is falling.
It's just an endless question
of whether it is away from
or into
life in this world.

I ran my hands through your hair,
beautiful, tangled, and golden
your eyes are warm honey
in the winter,
and in autumn, the color
of fallen leaves,
I like the scattering of freckles
like a starry sky among your
soft, peachy cheeks,
and your smooth, worn hands
full of loving warmth, and care
In moments, I look up to see your
silhouette in the magnificent sunset
drowning the sky behind you,
a spread of pale red and violet
outlining your beautiful body,
and in the pale moonlight,
I love to watch you
dancing, your skin shimmering,
your feet as free as air,
your soul twinkling
among the stars.

When your eyes are forced to be wide open
but your heart is clamped and shut tight.

The east branch of the Yangtze keeps flowing,
love seeds once sowed forever keep growing
A face in dreams grew blurred to one's eyes,
staying up late to listen to night birds' cries

Spring not yet green,
strands of gray hair having been seen,
a separation too long for the heart to grieve,

The past appears again and again
on the night of the fabulous Lantern Festival.

There are a few things in life
so beautiful they hurt:
swimming in the ocean while it rains,
reading alone in empty libraries,
the sea of stars that appear when you're
miles away from the neon lights of the city,
walking in the wilderness,
all the phases of the moon,
the things we do not know about the universe,
and you.

The rains have their oceans
and the sun has it's moon....
everything
  needs a
reason for
  falling

*and I
have you.

Everything is so hard,

to know what's right
but to do what's wrong

is the nature of creatures,
low and high

no need
for racial, gender
slurs or stereotypes

you've got your desires
and I've got mine;
amidst our starry eyes,

there are demons inside

no need to shove me,
no need to
make me cry,

your presence
is enough,
to wither me away inside

but sometimes
I feel like
wanting to fight back,

because we all deserve a new
day to live,
and who are
you to take that day,

when you only take,
but

don’t know how to give,

it may not be your fault
that you turned out this way,

but I’ll tell you
it certainly
wasn’t my fault either,

so who are you to say
that
I’ve got problems, flaws,

and you’ll break me
to the bone,
when you too

have always
been alone, dry and empty,

always left on your own,

but somehow it makes
you feel better

to hurl
insults carved in stones,

instead of
reaching out

and finding others
to be with
so you wouldn’t ever

have to be alone.

are all these
words
said for
you

you are the moon
shining valiantly to illuminate
the dark, starry sky

you are the wind
that brushes through my hair
and catches a hold of
my hand

you are the fleeting smile
I caught
on someone hurting
but alive

you are strength
and loving kindness when
I could not think anymore

your existence
is exciting; you
matter

and every word
of yours
is someone's
lovely poetry

are all these
words
said for
you

Milky, twinkling stars swiveling
in a diamond night sky are beautiful,
and the brightest one will lead you home,
but for now, I want to bring you
out into the light where at the fissure
of pale gold and orange in the blue
sky's dawn, you may suddenly draw
inspiration once again.
I would bring you to the peak of a mountain
to inhale a reservoir of fresh, crisp air
in an altitude of where you feel
you can belong, gazing out towards
the green valley and down the winding path,
leading back down to a narrow world,
but for now, (and eternity)
you can be above them all.  
I see your footsteps left behind on the
snowy cap, crunching beneath your feet
a reminder to both of us how you exist,
a humble memoir in the realness of a hurting,
beautiful being.
And in my dream when you came back
to life, we were spread out wildly on
blossoming, white clouds blown about in
warm winds, and the golden sunlight
brought out the clear, blue- gray in your eyes
and traced the freckles dabbling your cheeks
and you were just laughing,
because you were so free.
But in dark clashes of thunder, when
rain was not somebody's nourishing love
but instead painful, dark tears, there were
people's crude remarks and stark dispiritedness,
I held you tight in my arms, like a tree
sheltering a lone girl from prowling wolves
gathered your tears and turned them
into crystals, knowing one day
you'll teach yourself to throw them at
the narrow world full of paper people
and their paper ideas.
So for now, rest in the cradle
of my warm, loving palms,
and grow into the strong and beautiful
person you most want to become.

In my household of four
we go about,
unable to hide our disdain and
dis-contentedness, the fresh regrets
in the mourning of lost time,
there is always an apparent thankfulness because
we weren't born with too much misfortunes, although
circumstances could have been better,
But who is to define the real terms of better
that are always shifting form
in the courses of our existences,
like how back then
the terms of better were to me a library (world)
full of endless books & stars,
loving parents and a youthful, grinning brother
to always be oblivious to the world's troubles
a free, open soul to travel the world
and discover new places and people,
an existence far better than
what the human spirit yearns for,
going beyond the wish that a paradise awaits
for all good of mankind,
an existence that rather
brings the concept of a better world
to life, right here and
right now in the present.
But of now, all I can seem to wish for
are fresh lemons
to flush out the built up toxins and frustrations
in everybody,
a father to stop filling himself
with hot air and oblivion to what he has
especially towards the person
who has been by his side throughout
the world's rains of misery and truth,
a mother to stop being so angry
in her majestic world of self pity and
hard, unyielding pride towards her morals,
a brother to stop growing big enough
to keep throwing things around,
and a dumb, mindless girl to stop crying
and figure out how to get her life back together.

When the sun’s rays
illuminate the awakening, vast sky,
soak through fresh, gathering clouds
and tuck the stars and moon under
a blanket of warmth,
someone will find us,
seated up there on the white bleachers
in the stadium overlooking the track,
breathing in crisp, new air
with squinted eyes soaking in
the gold outlining the horizon,
enjoying a time of solitary togetherness
in an eventful but dazed world
where the color of its inhabitants
are to us, black and white,
but still, we ride on hope and two children's
combined abilities to dream,
and our feet planted firmly, but leaning forward
in an infinite space of chances,
enveloped in quiet moments of each other,
of where we’ve been,
who we are,
and where we’re going.

I've
become so numb

I can't feel you there,

I've become
so tired

so much more
aware,

by becoming this,
all I want
to do

is be more

like me

and be less

like

you.

A man once said,
there is always
one promise that remains

that
no matter the price,
a promise to survive
to persevere,
and thrive
as we've always done....

although that man
is now gone from
the universe,

his words
I have burned
into
the back of my mind.

Lately I've been feeling
very tired,
condemned to the coarse shouts
curses, and vile bitterness
of the people around me

I feel
so utterly wronged,
and misunderstood,
having to question the sky
over and over again,

how did a simple thing,
come to such terms
in a complicated world

Every move,
every word, every
expression of life
is judged and
grudges,
are as common as
love should be.

I find myself
trapped in endless seconds,
hours, days, years
performing the same acts
over and over again,
living the same regrets

while managing to grasp onto
the despair over
a time glass whose sands
are rushing against my will,
leading to a sad,
forgotten, fate

I can not find anything
to express joy and gratitude
of the person I am,
for it is because of who I am
the world is so intent
on bringing me down,

All I can do
when I run out of breath
to fight,
is to ask
for forgiveness,

in losing to
somebody else's will.

Sometimes
when I descend into
this world of black and white
filled with words bursting of colors,

I see things,
a different light, maybe a different darkness,
a vision of the world, evolving
re-shaping a soft and muddled mess,
like given a chance to
blur out sharp, unyielding thorns
and re-focus on a soft rose,

I hear things,
wind chimes swaying softly
in the warm, night breeze
the sound of pure bliss
in someone's laughter,
a kindness found in
all expressions throughout,

yet there are still
the beautiful soft words, of
a young soul, drawing inspiration
from heartache
and a very quiet pain,

I feel things,
a softness in the corner
of my mind,
a sort of reminder
to express a stroke a color
on the blank canvas of all hearts,
to let my sadness, and overwhelming
despair retreat,

to find a hand,
to hold dearly
to gently wrap my hand
around a heart,

for it is true,
it is.

love,
is an answer.

I wish to hear once again
the wind's gentleness, rustling
the leaves of the trees,

laughter as the sound
of somebody's delight,

a kiss carried across
the endless deserts, oceans,
valleys, skies,

I wish to see again
a stream of warm sunlight,
dancing from my windowsill

the bright and humble beauty
of a blooming, soft petaled flower,

the person's eyes
of whom I can't recall
but I know was the beautiful sun
in the darkness of my life,

I wish to feel again
someone's small, then strong, then earnest,
then old and faded hand, in my hand,

the tears of gratitude
and acknowledgement,
strolling down our cheeks

the love of strangers
who smiled at me,
and somehow knew
who I was inside,

the simple weight
of a single, slim pen
in my hand,

and all I could see
in the end,
was a young person
who could live freely again,
dancing,
in a shimmering light.

eliminate any means
of dependence

2. perform simple everyday tasks
with grace,
and be prepared to face
the bigger ones

3. reflect upon yourself,
do what is right, and there will be
no need to feel regret

4. live for yourself,
for your happiness
that is real

5. forgive yourself first,
and then
forgive others

6. make the people
involved in your life
happy

7. let go of the past,
appreciate the present,
and embrace
the future

The newborn shock and delight of a handlit firework stick
can dissipate in less than 3 seconds.

The patience in an hour standing in line for a 30 second thrilling roller coaster ride, is what everyone thinks living in the moment is.

But sometimes I don't mind the longing and emptiness that remains long after

because I want to be a splash of exurbance in people's lives, disappearing in a flash when love is finally settled.

I'd want people to miss me for eternity, but at the same time I'd escape eternities full of flaws and misunderstandings with them.

So if goodbye is what it takes to be remembered or longed for so achingly,

Capture the person's smile and all your favorite things before
letting go.

I think when someone looks at you,
you want them to discover
the silent pain that wells up
inside, as dark as the night

the blinding, harshness of
reality like concrete
like how it hurts when you
grind your teeth as you trip
over the same cracks over and
over again

the coldness that erupts from
the observatory stationed in your mind,
an eternal judgement being played out
whenever you're around people
of whom you can't ******* stand

the emptiness that echoes
through the hollow tunnel of
your mind, when you sit there alone
on the train tracks, trying to smoke
your dreams out, while you wear a
name tag and a fake smile and
be surrounded by nothing that
matters in the end

sparks, flashing and sizzling,
like when you see pieces of yourself
in others and catch a glimpse of hope,
a second of desire in a will to live
for once, there might be others
someone might actually care
a fire ignited in your chest

a falling fear, a surrounding environment
of darkness, drowning you, choking you
with your panic and despair, like how
when you were first born and didn't
know if you would live or not
if your parents would keep you or not,

a silent wail of despair and lost hope
echoing throughout the night,
as your eyes rain on the pillow
and you pull on the strings hanging
from the stars and the moon, and you
beg someone or something up there
to take you away,

a warmth radiating from someone
a hand you lace your fingers through,
a smile to memorize, and heart to outline
three words to say over and over again
never knowing if you both mean it,
but loving it anyways

a difference, a light in the eyes
saying, I'm different,
I'm not like them, a purpose in
ever step taken, a reassuring voice
of your conscience saying
they can never destroy you because
you're different, even though sometimes
you admit to yourself that they
were just words all along

I think when someone looks at you,
you want to see yourself from
their eyes, feeling sorrow
and gladness and more sorrow,
for that's one of the things that
has made you who you are
but you also want hope and love
and a steady guiding heart
a smile, a hand

I think when someone looks at you
underneath all the layers and
imperfections, they see who you
really are, the stripped down version
of a ******* mess

I think when someone looks at you,
you want their understanding
to finally free your hidden agonies.

Excuse me,
hello-- is there anyone there?

I think that person-- the one with the blue goggles
swimming there in the furthest lane,
I think that person needs help,

It seems like that person is crying
every time the face resurfaces
to gasp for air, like a fish on land
I get a glimpse,
contorted and puffy,

Is it normal to kick that much
for a freestyle stroke?
or any stroke in general?
and the arms are clenching the water,
and thrashing?

The goggles remain sealed and on,
even during short breaks.
the teeth seems to be clenched,

I don't wanna sound strange or anything,
but I know all too well
how someone looks like,
how someone feels like,
when they're crying

and I'm sure,
that person is crying,
that person needs help,

and the tears
are mingling with the water
in the swimming pool,
the water that people swallow
and cough out,

Well?
is anyone going to help?

I can't really think anymore.
My words won't ever be enough anyways,
so this is really just for my own sanity.
I understand, even when others don't.
I understand, even when it is not always right to think a certain way.
But I just wish I wouldn't have to be so miserable because of the fact that I'm an understanding, compassionate person.
I just wish that people could have the strength to think past their values, their beliefs.
I just wish that everyone could be united through goodness, not by their thoughts on what goodness is.
I just wish that people who talk too much, listen for once.
I just wish that people who are uprightly moral and enduring and strong
have the ability to see those traits in people who aren't the same as them,
in people who will always be different.
I just wish that I could love whoever I want by who they are on the inside and how they treat me,
not by how other people perceive them,
not by what other people think of them,
not for how they see it as for my own good.
I just wish that people could escape from the words that hurt too much,
rather than taking their anger out on the little ones,
who lack everything in the world.
I just wish I could stop crying
because of other people who cry and think their tears are for me and my own good
but who really cry because I can't reach to where they expect me to be,
who really cry because I can't believe in
what they believe to be the truth.
I just wish
I wasn't so sincere, and humble, and cowardly, after all.

Lemons (and a lemon squeezer)
sticky notes
a family that I can talk to
a life I'd like to live
a world I'd actually like to live in
to love, so I don't have any time left to hate
to stop enduring for things I shouldn't have to
to be different, but also myself
to stop crying, get up off my ***, and actually do something about it.

Sunlight streamed in to where I sat alone
in the shed

breathing, or sighing--
clothed in nothing but ashen, bare skin
and regrets,

a soft hat pulled low
to cover leaking fluttering eyes,
opening and closing
shifting to let the world slip in and out,

watching golden dust flurrying
in shadows of every corner,

soft flecks of lost things
existing without a single sound,

a warm wind brushing on green leaves feels like a
sunny tear dried face,
blowing away

with lost or man- made dreams
so many "cares," that never really cared
at all,

wood splinters digging into
palms and fingernails,
quietly asking,

are you here

to reflect before or after
a sad, ******* high

or are you just hiding from the world,
trading a flurry of painful life

for every second

of silent solitude

I think

there's a fault

in my code

I want to slice open this blanket of illusion
that seems to coat
reality the way the night sky should,
because here it thrives:
pouring over the lit up city and it's cable lines,
in the iPhone 7's
and the moving wallpapers,
in the water (soda) that I drink everyday,

I feel it in the wasted seconds that tick on by,
the petty, whines
of shady drawn, stick figures
surrounding me, it feels like
sickeningly sweet, sticky fingers from having pried open
a can of sugar coated lies,

like a dollar bill floating upon
the wind,
my high pitched giggle is snatched by blaring car horns
swallowed by an adolescent's carelessness,
stomped on by the
cross guard transporting kids and air across the cracks
in the sidewalk,

I can feel it underneath my drooping eyelids,
how they
beg for truth (or sleep) in the middle of the night,
when I can't seem to get the **** math problem done,
in the slouching of my back on my
black, duct taped chair, for we all know
it is duct tape that holds you together these days,

I flail around with words and colors
flashing in my mind, showing on my skin,
I try to stick my earbuds in
and blast pretty worlds across the scenery,
but even then until the very end
the illusion doesn't go away...
and I still feet so empty and sweet,
kind of like bleach
being poured
into a cake batter,

and so on I dance and writhe through each day,
still feeding myself poison disguised as
comfort food,
still covering reality with
the blanket of illusion,

still complaining of my stomach ache,
and claiming that for some people,
nothing will ever be enough.

This week,
I trudged along the cold, salty
waters of the rocking ocean,

I swung my feet gracefully
and walked along the sandy shore,
a ballerina, stretching her feet
to form light, bittersweet
curse words in the sand,

I tilted my head back
to drink in all of the sky,
the stars twinkled
and swallowed me whole,

I scanned the rising horizon
for miles, reached out to abandoned shells
placed at my feet,
quietly listened to the sad, melodic
voices, of gleaming sirens
in the ocean's heart

But despite my breathlessness
in the crisp air, of the gray ocean
I still could not
find you,
the one I so yearn to meet,
the one who could
make me forget the sorrows,
the delicate, hidden pain,

the one who I deserve
to love,
because now, everything else
is no longer worth a thing,

and everyday,
is still like

the stars
going out
in my empty soul.

And in the cool, drifting abyss of all lost things,
I find you.
You who are affected by the world's discontent,
who watched through penetrating, yet clear eyes--
everything fall apart, underneath the disguise of
impeccable clothes
and red (or black) lipstick--
you who watched the light dance in people's eyes
and tried to determine whether
they were illusions or not,
you who remembered
how it felt to be free for the first time,
standing tall in the clear, cold water and basking in your pain, but daring someone to drown you--
while you learned to breathe.
You who felt love
radiating throughout your body and mind,
how when you looked at her, you saw stars with muffled shines
and the ghosts of a different universe--
you reached out and touched her, gave her your words
drifting across the dark, rigid screen
bursting it like a single drop, forming rapid ripples--
and someday, the truth will come out
how when we're all alone, and the world is drawing to a close
underneath all the pretenses
and the hidden solitary pain,
you will draw out that cigarette full of stars, and let the ashes of a lost world's dreams be carried through the wind,
riding on the smoke of despair--
riding on a soul,
never shattered.