They are so oppressive
we can't stop the tears
from bursting just
whenever we're reminded,
this is such a hard
world to reside in,

why are they so
judgmental and cruel,
setting standards for
everything single grain
of breath and touch
from gold to dust and
well maintained tongues,
flattering attires and
polished reputations,
advertising material wealth
spewing bitterness and
treading on blooming
hearts and expanding souls,

what is their purpose
in life, and why make
the world such a
cruel inhumane place,
never aware of the
depths of sorrow and
penetrating loneliness
that take place among
souls that were supposed
to be united to shine
amidst the dark starless
eternal night, but

instead of shining we
are now forced to fight
and live lives of endless
tears and pain, for
they created such an
environment that
surely obtains the
flaws and darker
sides of human nature,

but we wish for the
world to be the best
starry place as possible,
or be it a hole
submerged in entire
darkness forever.

Give it your all to
live for the eternal
free, or else let the
whole of your soul
be enslaved to the
eternal darkness,
there is no middle
ground to tread on,
choose your path,
and live till you reach
wherever you chose
the world to be.

Every time, once in a while
I would think to myself,
oh how I wish I had never been born

yet then I'd find myself
thinking of the Labrinyth movie,
where Sarah had made
the same wish towards her baby brother,
and there followed a night
of when the Goblin King
took her brother away

and it was quite a journey
to bring the babe back,
from traps, thick stone walls, and timeless sunsets
within the maze
to the shimmering dance of the illusion
with the Goblin King himself
who seemed to make the world fall down
around Sarah's shoulders

if you could describe
the mingling of dazed wonderment
and the dizzying fear of consequences from
wrong choices made in the split second
it takes to wish
you were never born,

it would feel something like
wandering through a labyrinth, where nothing is normal
and everything eludes sense,
thriving on the split moments
of ignorance, anger, and sadness
that result from the world
and everyday deeds,
and the character of the person you are

no matter how tempting
or dazzling
the world full of shimmering illusions may be,
it is in the end, still
another bottomless dark hole
to spiral down into

I guess that's why
when things take a turn for the rough
in life
and I turn to wish that I had
never been born,
I always find myself
thinking of the Goblin King coming to
****** me away
to lead me into the world of
luring, beautifully twisted illusions
that drain the soul out of you when you've
had enough.

If everyone cared
and nobody cried
if everyone loved
and nobody lied
if everyone shared
and swallowed their pride
then we'd see the day
that nobody died.

I want you to see
that in this world of white and black,
there is color to be found.

Even if you have to look through
the cracks and crevices in sidewalks and buildings
look behind closed signs, through empty storefronts

gaze into the starless
falling eyes of the boy next door
trying to remember what the night sky looked like

you will find them
because all lost things,
are meant to be found
one day in the end.

wow! just wow~
can you remember the flowers
the cherry blossoms that were your favorite because
you thought they smelled like me

the blue blue sky
the endless ocean of tears

and the stars
that were white
but dripping with every color

and you,
you are a rainbow,
not the one everyone expects

but a rainbow
of pain, solitude, forgiveness,
love (as hard as it is to believe),
and life.

I wish I could live
in my own little world
where the air would smell like
freshly bossoming gardenias and
sparkling green mint
where the sounds of the day
would be vibrant with laughter and words
guitars and pianos and drums
while at night
there float a single
lovely tune of a flute
stirring the leaves of the trees
the creases in folks' smiles
the longing in the heart
of the woman sitting quietly
upon the moon
An eternity of where
souls could fly and
dance and sing
where folks' feet bound lightly
above the sole of
a dimension of where
there are no tears and sorrow
no depressed feelings upon
the day mentioned as tomorrow
no cramped aching feelings
buried in the pits of stomachs
but be a place instead where
women's feat unbinded and long
men who may be 4 feet tall
where twisted chains
razor blades and sharp tongues
cease to exist
smiles and delight in eyes of
people once blind
wings unfolded and soaring
of those in flight
towards a better night
in a better light
I wish I could live
in my own little world
where everything
happiness perfection gratitude
Life
is free.

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.

The rain splatters on stained sidewalks
and polishes pebbles on the
slick, gray road packed with cars
and hustling people caught up
in traffic jams,
the sky above is stormy gray
yet calm; there's a settled beauty
within a dreary, wet day
I'm walking amidst the busy street,
rainboots, high heels and
dress shoes all alike flowing
along from offices and
buildings and schools
and whatever places of importance
to get home, where it's nice and dry
and there's someone warm
waiting inside,
There's the coffee shop and bookstore
I always go to on
rainy days like this one
to watch the flurry of movement
outside as I sit contentedly
sipping my steaming mug of
dark coffee and turning the pages
of a worn book to greet my small
friends on every page,
But today I am one of the
paper folks out on the street,
weighed down by heavy coats and hats
and dress shoes
walking hurriedly against the blowing wind,
I board the subway, with its mix
of gray-blue seats filled with
lost faced people glancing out
the clear windows
and the isles are held by standing people
glancing at their watches,
the moment reminds me of
Daniel Powter's song, Bad Day
where the woman sits down
not far from a settled love
of two people leaning on each other
and she brushes away the distant thought
that she is alone,
and the fluorescent light
preserves the moment in my head
and I glance around wondering
if there would happen to be
a moment like that for me to take,
and I see a guy
with tangled hair and jade green eyes
standing a short distance away
watching me, and he smiles
before turning back to the girl
beside him
and that moment reminds me of
James Blunt's song, You're Beautiful
because I feel a twinge of curious sadness
as he puts his arm around her
and for an instant
I pretend the girl is me before
turning away,
I look up and the sky is still
stormy yet bright, and everything is
going by in a blur;
the trees a mash
of brown and evergreen
red and blue houses blending into
their pink and white shutters,
I catch a glimpse of a man and a woman
engulfed in each other's arms
kissing, standing on the porch
of their white two story house
with yellow shutters
and in that moment I feel like
the ******* the train,
dazed from a strange fantasy in my head
happening to play out on the screen
of a reality that never really
turns out right,
I close my eyes the rest of the way
and let myself drift apart
before joining the stream of paper people
stepping out of the train
and walking off into the distance.

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?

You are smiling in the picture
curly hair ruffled and a defined living jawline
teeth gleaming and soft wrinkles around the eyes

It is a warm and windy day
the sky a pool that is sepia colored
the squirrels dance and the birds fly
and chairs, picnic blankets and banquets
are strewn across the lawn
children's feet dart across the grownups
who are busy questioning themselves or falling in love

there is flowing tipsy music
musicians in gloves, suits and mustaches
a sole lovely flute woman in a silk kimono
two dancers: one with feet bound embracing the earth
and the other as free and light as the wind,
relishing in the sky  

for some unknown reason
everyone is united,
feeling free as air
and content as living life itself

and I clutch the camera
crouching down in over-sized denim overalls
messy bun intact, colorful painters' fingers
settling with a smooth anticipation to wait,
the perfect moment will be here any time soon

And the cloud lets out a special airy breath just for you
so when you glance up at the sepia colored sky
and float back down to the earth below,

you are smiling in the picture
curly hair ruffled and a defined living jawline
teeth gleaming and soft wrinkles around the eyes.

As I developed, they shaped me,
as if I had been a block of clay
sitting there on the jagged concrete of
unpaved streets and endless roads.

My future form dependent on
the timing of passing strangers'
beginnings and endings,
their risings in the mornings
like the blue and orange horizon
spreading in preparation for the sun's presence,

And their settling back in the evenings,
like cool salty clouds of white sea foam
collapsing back into the ocean's
gray waves.

In each moment passing by
like a kid riding a bicycle, speeding down
the cracked pavement and
turning the corner out of site,

I was shaped by
the flurry of life that surrounded
every person's presence.

Picked up, tossed into the air,
and kicked by small children with bright eyes
and tongues that stuck out when
adults were unfair,

Colored, spray painted and scribbled on
by teenagers with messy dark curls,
wild laughing eyes,
and rapidly budding senses,

Observed, analyzed, discussed, and compared
by businessmen in jet black suits
and smooth red ties,
who pondered cutting me evenly
into perfect pieces for sale on the market,

Rolled, polished, scrubbed clean,
and spiced by rapid tongued mothers
wearing aprons and holding long
wooden cooking spoons,

Eroded, left to absorb a vast amount of salt
from teary eyes and bleeding wounds,

Caught on blazing, fiery fumes
of a man's raging anger,

Soaring high in the sky, resting on clouds
of someone's love and faith,

Trapped low in the ground,
sleeping in a bed of dried dirt filled with
people's sorrows and dreariness,

Drowning in purple satin
of one's longing
and unsatiated desires,

Chained to a planet
spiraling out of control in a universe
that couldn't bear to let go.

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.

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

dear Edgar Allen Poe
remember that beating heart  
hidden inside the wall all ******
still beating with hysteria and remorse
the thump thump thump
vibrating the entire house
inhabitants frozen with twisted fear
the mad man in tears of hysteria
shaking with large bloodshot eyes
shifting rapidly from place to place
anywhere but that beating wall

How can I rest in peace
when the sound of my heart beating
is ever so urgently beckoning
from the wall to the very ground
of which my body is rotting in
moreover, was it wrongfully taken
as an attempt to keep me alive
in the very walls of Hell's house...

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.

Time's in a flurry when it
happens to glance at you,
hurrying here and there
talking as if your words were on fire,
walking as if you were being
chased by your shadow,
living like every second was too slow,

I like to treasure
the pieces of you left behind in the air,
traces of emotions flashing across your face
words escaping your mouth so rapidly,
the motions of your arms hovering in the air.

You always praised me
so much regard and acknowledgement,
laughing and confident at my hesitation
exposing me to the world,
defending my soul from
insults rolling off sharp tongues
of shadows passing by.

Sometimes I wonder
have you forgotten who I am,
buried in the wishes and desires of a dream person
the sole image and reflex of a perfect reality,
the false light shining into the heavy bright day,
when all I had ever been in the beginning
was a shadow among the stars.

I want to reach for your hand,
holding still the golden strands of time
slowly pouring a cool light darkness over you,
will you finally notice the deep pools in my eyes,
the sorrow welling in my heart
the loneliness penetrating the lining of my ribs
the settled love you would never notice,

Little by little,
you move flashing by,
faster and faster as a race against time,
never glancing back at what you leave behind,
your fingers slipping and pulling away from my hand,
the warmth running and the coldness creeping in,
the ties unbinding and the distance growing in between,

until all is a left,
is a timeless statue of my body.

For you took every second of me with you.

All I feel
is remorse
for those who
know nothing better
to do then to
face darkness with
cries screams rants
pounding fists
slashing at hearts
of those around
for the circle of misery
goes round and round
and well beings turned
upside down
those who can no longer
distinguish right or
wrong

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.

Her hair, was two, silky, raven black cornrows
flowing down her slender back,
in her eyes, you could find
two whole blue corn moons, and a grinning bob cat of stars
twinkling in the blanket of night sky,
a trembling reflection on the sleepy, shimmering lake,
her skin was copper and
cinnamon flavored, rich and aglow with delicate paint markings
perfect, round droplets of blue and red ink,
a flora, fauna princess with
a crown of blossoming flowers garnishing her jeweled head,
and the majestic, flowing cloak
of a rampant bear wrapped around her shoulders,
her cool, adventurous feet, would walk to the ends of the earth
leaving a trail of lightly treading,
small footprints among the larger ones,
for she cupped up handfuls of the rich, dark soil,
marveled
at the shine of a cherry, red sun,
sang with all the voices
of the mountains,
painted with
all the colors of the wind,
and never thought to ask for more,
she threw herself over his worn, rugged self
and asked for his life to be spared,
blinking down crystalline tears, swiveling in a fresh, pure,
soft, innocence that brought mankind to bay,
and then she reached up
and harvested her ripe fruits,
to nourish his kind.

I will always be  
here, no matter what
happens, I will be here
waiting throughout time
to be there for you.
I will cherish
your sad words
the fleeting smiles
extinguished
pain and solitude  
broken dreams and
fresh dry scars,
my hand will always
be out for you to
reach for and hold
onto because it's
important to hold on
before learning to let go,
I will provide unconditional
sincere love that you
weren't able to receive,
I'll calm down the
reckless demon inside,
ignite the light in your
eyes, and just be a part
of the night diamond sky
doing it's part in setting
your soul free.

I glance behind my shoulder
people whom I've known since 4th grade
but now don't know walk on by
I look up at the skies
see the same sky and sun
but different structured clouds
with airplanes dragging in the distance
people who are leaving for a new start
or coming home to rest or fight
I unlock the front door
same door but different lock
and same old house but
different beds and rooms
addition of paintings and flower vases
because I can appreciate art
something they couldn't ever do
I stare at my hands
they're the same but
so very different
young and vibrant
now knotted and dead
like the blades of grass
and flowers and stars
and the hair on the forearms
of someone's skinny
fat dark light tan arms
they will continue to grow on and live
while I along with the human race
will be wiped from the face
of the Earth one day
with a longing so persistent
in my heart that my soul
will bear on the way to
a better world and a better person
I dream of that other world
because I failed in making
a difference in this one.

So this is what it feels like
to be a new person....
no one recognizes me
and I pass on by unnoticed,
what should I do to get everyone's attention
to make my old friends remember me again,
to be acknowledged and smiled at
but maybe....
it's just foolish selfishness!
because why should I need any acknowledgement
from any of them
because who said they were worthy of my knowledge,
who said they should even matter,
I can determine that myself
I don't need to listen to what others think
the rules and standards they set, the expectations they ensure,
who ever gave them the right
to take control of my life,
my smiles,
my knowledge,
my actions
my soul,
my universal being,
when they did they ever have that right
to act like my life
was just another one of theirs?
the answer is simple:
never.

I used to think it'd be nice
if people could brew their characters
and personalities to filter out
their destructive traits and twisted perceptions
derived from the challenges
that the world has ****** at them
to distinguish what kind of individuals they have become,

as if they had been freshly brewed
pitchers of dark roast coffee
that somewhere along the way,
got coffee beans jammed in the grinder,
generating grainy, polluted, dark, undrinkable water
so then they take a clean, white paper filter
and pour their mixture of grains
and water through it
in the hopes of salvaging some lush coffee
while removing clumps of impurities,

but life isn't a coffee maker that can easily be fixed
and me and you aren't just cups of coffee
that went wrong;
it is by nature that we will not make it through
the world unscathed and unashamed,
and we have not yet found the purpose to our lives,

every single time we go through the filter
and somehow end up with a trail of trash
following us to the other side,
it's not our fault; we didn't break any laws
and besides, every single person we visit
has a trail of crushed, damp, coffee grains
outlining their homes,
trailing behind them like their own shadows,
even spilling out from their clenched hands
and tightened mouths,

but every single time I ask if I can taste you
despite all the dark grainy beans polluting
your freshly brewed coffee,
you still taste so rich and savory
while burning the back of my throat
with your smiles, motions, and words,

and as time continues to flow,
I find it gets easier to sweep up
the crushed grains and pile them on the side
as I continue to savor you,

and the rest of the people in the world
and their polluted, grainy, luscious coffee.

Above me hovers endless sky--
dark, calm, tranquil, and flowing
I see my reflection in the occasional ripple of stars;
wilted hair, hunched spine, smudged, muddy eyes
I hate how it so clearly displays
my pathetic, pitiful, existence--
a life laced with strife underneath gold
spread on the surface
symbols traced on walls, willowy and enchanting
mistaken by outsiders as representing
a record of aspirations,
I am the sole figure who knows the truth:
that it's a record of my flaws and regrets
I've managed to make it this far--
an entanglement of blessings, luck,
opportunities, strangers' pity,
a system's willingness, and my own work
but I know it's not enough,
and I'm uncertain of how much longer
I can continue to pitch my complexity and worth--
just hoping that when the dam bursts
with the arrival of the truth;
the moment I can no longer pretend
everything is okay....
just hoping that mom and dad
will still love me for who I am,

and that the world will leave me alone

All I feel is remorse and a longing
for my wasted and undeveloped,
malnourished potential
for the arts.
How I long to write,
spilling my thoughts and words
onto beckoning sheets of blank paper.
How I wish I could draw and outline,
bringing to life scenes, memories,
and figments of my imagination
in which I always envision and depict myself
as a more vivid
and entrancing individual.
I feel completely isolated and pathetic,
unable to connect the dots,
trampled on by the success
and the never ending bits of small and large
investments of effort
that my peers have the potential to conjure up,
while I writhe and struggle with just forcing myself to
face the responsibilities and challenges,
only to find myself crawling into bed every night
having accomplished nothing.
I feel starved of life and companionship,
as I look around and see others
who I might’ve longed to be friends with,
brush past me without a glimpse
or a moment of hesitation,
as if I were a humanless shadow in their path
that formed out of nowhere.
The more time that passes by,
the more I feel myself slipping away.
Unable to think, unable to speak coherently
in the sense of complete honesty,
I can only dream of a world
in which my journey aligns with the stars of my dreams.

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.

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.

In the chilly cold air
of the starless dark night,
I rub my hands for warmth
and think,
oh how alone I am in this sad world.
Walking forward,
frosty grass rustling underneath my feet
I search for a source of warmth,
a beacon of light and sound,
a comfort of love and home,
but all that is left for me is
the Trail of Tears leading to
the ends of the earth,
where everyone I knew had
walked off a long time ago.

I cry because
I know I am lost
and all alone in
the world, my tears
are not emerald
blue or silky skies but
endless rivers of
trailing ink and
bitter blood because
the world filled me
with regret and remorse
stripped down my
pride and my name
my self esteem and
my love shredded
and hope for a
brighter day no more,
but sometimes I
can't help but smile
let loose a trail of
laughter slip from
my lips and let
the corners of my
eyes wrinkle with delight
because I can't help
but want to be happy
I just want to let
those in the world
know, do not mistake
any form of happiness
that escape from me
as true contentedness
or well being because
there is no way to live
life without a smile,
but there is a way
to live life smiling
amidst the eternal tears.

She is a doll,
a sparkly colorful cupcake,

her twinkly laughs carefully measured
before letting the sprinkles coat them over,

a shrill sweet voice made of syrup and chocolate

sometimes, the colors fade
for just a split second
before she once again grows sharp as a sweet icicle

so vibrant and sugary on the surface,
yet inside, so full of calories fuming in jealousy and fat

As I sit alone on the shore
of a desolate, gray ocean of tears
with an aching in my heart
for the time I have lost,
I find myself wishing before I go,
that you would think of me

because all those years, I was there
a sunflower among the weeds,
they surrounded me, whining in my ear
trying to change me, to take away the truth
but even still in the end,
I rose, and continued
to turn towards the sun

and life is like an ocean
and I am like the tide,
everyone chooses to swim past
or let themselves sink to the bottom,
but all along I had been content with just floating on,
embracing everything and everyone
heading towards me,
but in the end, I was still never enough

and I was never one to ask for much,
standing by in the hurricane of desire
with half closed eyes and soft wits
in the lovely, cool, shimmering rain,
I did what they asked
wiped my tears away and swallowed my pride,
and no matter how it hurt
I still got up each day, and smiled

and now, our time is almost up,
and this is when we reach the threshold
of never realizing what we had
until it's all gone,
and although I'm not one to hold grudges,
I can't help but wish

that the day
all the sunflowers on the tide
drown,
they; the oppressors will all perish,
and pure light
will be able to flood
the ocean of tears again.

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.

I think of a soul
consisting of many fragments,
all bursting to be released
and letting millions of thoughts
shine vibrantly.
They don't all have to make sense,
they don't all have to be original,
they just have to be true to me,
the me I chose to be,
the better one, the best one
out of all of them.
I have grown in many ways
and found amusement
in things I once shunned or thought against,
for instance, lying to myself
that everything is okay
but it's alright to do that because
if you make yourself believe
hard enough, then everything is,
and sometimes,
that's all that you really need,
having faith in a dreary, bustling,
forgetful world,
full of people who leave you behind
and people who pick you up
and take you to their
warm homes.
Bit by bit,
I've learned that change
isn't always a bad thing,
that some things are meant to happen
no matter how hard
you will them not to,
because it's your way of growing,
a forceful action wrenching open
clenched hands and
eyes squeezed shut, head afloat
ears trapping out all sounds,
then I realize
it was me all along
dragging myself down to lay on
a blanket of self-pity and isolation,
and change was
the only factor
with the ability to wrench open
closed doors.
Now I hear sounds that in turn
make me see, and seeing,
makes all the difference,
not just in black and white,
but also in vintage, sepia,
color.

I wish there was a term to describe the sensation
of thinking too much about the end....
and the shadowy outline of the plot in between.
Yet, when I look up from my phone to discover
the hours have flown by drowned in hyper, tuned voices
blended together,
bright, artificial colors radiating from a screen,
profanity and insensitive depictions of life
scattered across the interface of the internet
like shattered scraps of stars and meteors in the galaxy,
I realize that I wasn't ever really thinking at all,
drowning out life's mysteries in the undiscovered depths
of the ocean
and my quest to seek knowledge so expansive
that I'd wrap it around the universe twice,
I chose not to look outside and see the present forces of nature
and its boundaries in a world of mankind and destruction,
didn't really want to listen to what my parents
needed me to hear; the moments when I should've grown
a layer of maturity and capability to support us all
in an environment in need of drastic change
and improvement,
didn't say the words my brother needed to
hear and process;
the jumbled up pieces of advice and experience
from a responsible older sister who was able to
put on her big girl pants and educate him
about the crooked ways of the world,
and didn't build up the hard shell of defense
against the addicting symptoms of depression and anxiety
from a society that is materialistic, sensual,
and rotten to the core.
All this time, enveloped in the gray static of my own mind,
never able to break free because  I couldn't concentrate,
and there were so many things more appealing
that flashed across my screen,
so many other realities I'd rather live in.
In the end, it all just comes back to this:
my inability to be present and to feel worth in
my own existence as a human being.
I wish there was a term to describe a person who means well,
who can envision herself striving to become
a more dynamic, open, and thoughtful person
who used to be told by others that she worries and thinks too much,
who used to be able to feel the weight of her family's value
on her shoulders,
but who also now at the same time struggles
to stay and confront the cruel reality of the world that actually exists,
who can't help but flash pretty scenery,
and listen to flowing sugary words,
and stare at beautiful illusions across her screen
to keep herself sane and awake,
who has to convince herself time and again
of the evidence that she exists,
an entity that is just as much as everyone else
entitled to a sense of life,
and who needs to remember that pain
is something to learn and grow from,
not just an excuse to tune out from the world's problems
and forever dwell in gray mindless static.

There's a yearning in my heart
and it's so persistent
I see stars shining
their brightness dripping into the sky
laying down a blanket of
soft twinkling souls
carrying them away to a place
where everything lasts
but I look up
and it's raining
the clouds are gray
there's no moon to light up
my corner of the sky
and I see an airplane going on by
and I ask
can we pretend
that the airplanes in the night sky
are shooting stars,
cause I could really use
a thousand wishes right now.

The problem is that you always end up wanting more, right?
You can never be fulfilled with what you have.
Time either eats away at your regards
for certain things, or instead packs on layers of
desire, need, and growing relentlessness
in obtaining whatever it is you so desire.
It's quite sad, really,
how I might look at you from a distance
and feel shock, alarm, sadness, and pity
for being so engulfed in things that
will fade away, things that won't
work out, things that aren't worthy of
relinquishing in the light of your attention,
things that are consuming
bit by bit, the good, unique aspects
of you as a person.
You are waist deep, clawing into the abyss,
your eyes shining with desire, for something,
whatever it is, to become "more,"
to expand and transform into something that would
fulfill the extent of your feelings,
so you say.
How did you get so caught up
in it? How could you do that to yourself?
In a better place and time,
you exist for everyone and everything good,
not just for yourself.
You are kind, warm-hearted, open to those
who are laughing and crying,
to those falling and rising, to those coming
onto the shore, or washing away with the tides
into a beautiful, tragic sunset.
You exist to look directly into my soul
and talk to me
like you could talk to no other.
Because I'm not someone who needs help
with not giving into
worldly desires that will drain me of my
essence and life.
I try hard not to lose who I am,
and you won't ever see me harming
anybody or anything.
At the end of the day, we would
walk side by side on the shore
of a foamy, dark blue ocean carrying on its waves
lost dreams and souls out into the horizon,
and we would both agree that it has
been a good time, and that we have
established some sort of peace within ourselves,
that we no longer need to turn to
worldly desires and moments riding on
the seconds of a clock, in being able to
feel something calm and transparent.
We would both be liberated
from this world when we die.
That's all that I ever wanted when
I look at you.
You see... that's all that I ever wanted.

As the years pass, a part of its mind wonders what will
become of it.
A bystander forced to be a part of life's hectic,
unfair, and demanding ways.
A thing with no wits to fight out drawn, incriminating,
and unnecessary battles.
A speck of quiet darkness in the false, bright shine
of a store bought sun.
An organism desperately trying to blend into a crowd
where it  d o e s   n o t   b e l o n g.
(And never will.)
A piece of emotion attached to a living being, forcing it to
give a care about things that never last in its soul.
Too many feelings gone ignored,
Too many words left unsaid,
Too many expressions left misinterpreted,
Too many moments passing by in sunken tears.
Too many hands held out,
asking for things the organism does not know
how to give.
Too many demands made for
a piece of light that is being extinguished with time
and a mind drowning in pity and sorrow.
It is dazed and alone in a crowd of people
(no one to call to)
and watched under mistrusting eyes
at a place it is forced to call home.
It will gaze at a screen and bathe in falseness
for hours, just to scrape away the consciousness
of misery on its skin.
But every now and then, it must write incriminating
truths about a mind spiraling out of the light
to keep sane.  
(better to write than to harm others)
It has trouble smiling now, as its face melts and distorts
into crumpled pathetic excuses of expressions.
It stutters and leaves gaping black empty spaces, trying
to conjure up words that would seem  n o r m a l.
It would like to at any moment, break into a run
and feel its feet pound the cracked, gray pavement of the sidewalk
because anything would be better than having to
feel its mind breaking instead.
It would like to, at least once,
be able to dance without a flipping care over the
insecurities of its bent and oddly shaped body
and hands.
It would like to, at least once,
write without having its words prodded and graded and stripped down
and misinterpreted of their actual bare meanings.
It would like to, at least once,
live and smile and laugh and love
(yes, it quite loves to  l o v e)
without being judged or ordered about, without being
compared or displayed or placed on the limits of
people's ignorance and relentlessness in being at the best
at being the worst.
It would like to, at least once,
swim the waters of the vast ocean's life with the grace
and smoothness of a mermaid,
rather than struggle to keep its drowning head held above
dark, oily waters of bitterness and tears.
It would like to, at least once,
be kind enough to fly among sunset stained clouds in a peach horizon
and twinkle among the evening diamond stars,
rather than be ugly enough to no longer even be considered human,
taking on the form of a mere, existing  I T.

It seems they've won, my friends...
and I've lost.

Could you
put the world behind bars
  if i asked you to,
   because it was
    mean to me
   it pushed me off the swings
  shoved me down the slide
balled up dirt and threw it on my face
told me to go back
  to wherever i belonged which was nowhere
   told me to stop dreaming 'cause my dreams weren't real
    fed me toxic waste and pretty lies
   surrounded me with paper people who all thought that i was paper too and not a  real being
  could you be a witness
and testify for me, for my truth
for the simple fact that i never did anything wrong
  for how i never asked for anything
   and i wanted just to be happy
  and surrounded with real people that i could love
could you help me
stress to them
that all i had ever been
was a sondering star among the universe?

Meet me when the first snow falls
when the blue and green lights shine in the sky,
spin me around and around on the ice
so that when I look up I see the galaxy above my head,
catch a snowflake drifting down from the sky
and make it feel warmth for the very first time,
sit with me in the softness of the snow
and tell the wind to wash away our sorrows tonight,
glide with me in the night towards the sky
towards the shimmering falling stars that die
just so that we can make our wishes,
and we can see our dreams flash before our eyes,
I will hold you tighter and breathlessly whisper,
for every white year, I hope that you...
meet me when the first snow falls.

I'll be gone for a while; just a little bit,
no one will even miss me.
Although you watch me still sitting there comfortably
with stockinged feet and a hot cup of coffee,

in the seconds ticking by, I'm already flying away---
with the click of a button.

If this is what it takes to
get away from reality for a while,
I shall gladly place my problems on the rickety, old, scale
in return for just a bit of happiness, no matter if it's real or not,

but I find a bit of warmth,
in this nice, black and white
poetry website,
one of the few things to last and stay with me for a long time.

Sometimes, I like to watch princesses and their happy endings,
gaze at their beautiful orange sunsets and rising tides,
but I'd prefer any day
just broken people picking themselves up and going on,
after being kicked to the curbs by others.

I listen to people's voices
dripping with inspiration, aspiration,
bittersweet remorse, gravelly kind and scarred
I watch everyone fall apart and then come back together
under a different, liberating light (or darkness),

I've got lots to do,
but for now, I just wanna surf and dream---
with the nice, light click of a button.

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.