A crisp cool autumn breeze
scatters the dried orange burst and
sunset red colored leaves
bringing to me the scent of your cologne
and along with it,
the memory of the sweet taste of
your apple tongue and
soft rose lips,
bringing back to life
the map you outlined on my
face and back
with your warm engulfing and
sensitive hands.
My chest suddenly misses
the sturdy and proud outline of
your smooth back
the most during rainy gray days,
when we'd inhale our steaming mugs
of minty green tea 
and you'd allow me to sneak under
your sweater
and snuggle up against your neck
as we traced the teardrops of rain
trailing down the kitchen window.
My aching legs miss being
tangled in their home around your waist
the most during wintry howling
frost nights,
when we'd hold each other so tight
that I'd look up for air
to see flames dancing in the
fresh pale snow,
as you'd caress and kiss away
the salty yet bitter sadness on my stomach
and melt me into a spring day's
blossoming flower goddess shimmering
on the wine carpet.
Most of all today,
standing alone on the edge
of my barren and wilted garden
I miss most being able to swim
in your hazel ringed eyes
and drown in the emerald green sea of
your thoughts,
as your lips moved to outline
the once very real life
of our love.

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

Sometimes I just stare at
the person talking in front
of me and a roomful of
adolescents and ignorant grownups
and I want to step towards that person
get their attention and then gravely ask

are you happy with how your life
turned out to be content with what
you accomplished and was given in
return aspired by challenging
figures who as lifelong perfections
construct metal walls around hearts

Do you know who you are; can you
remember or live throughout each
day without questioning whether you'll
make it through or not because I can't
and it's frustrating but strangely
refreshing at the same time because
change is more likely to occur when you
think too much about such simple dead things

but some things in life were never
meant for some people no matter
how much they try or how much
they wish and why don't the people
in their lives understand that why
couldn't they feel compassion and
show support for the person as
how he or she already is and not
who they want that person to become

I hate people like that
people who can live day by day
beside a person throughout their lives
and never ever be able to know or see
who that person really is and never
ever be able to understand or care for them
because they're too ignorant and expectant
and selfish and they just can't see.

I stare at the person that's talking
in front of a roomful of strangers
and whiny adolescents and politicians
and attentive Gods and jittery parents
I stare at myself and ask
Are you really happy?

I had been treading water
just fine
the way I usually do--
kick out, then bend
keeping a steady rhythm and pace--
then all of a sudden,
I am once again overwhelmed
by waves of anxiety
and anger,
a current of isolation
so strong
it knocks my head underwater,
a tide of insecurity
floods itself in my lungs,
and an ocean of being left behind
beckons for me to come down;
to sink to the bottom,
as a side effect of being conditioned
for so many years,
that I am a person
who can't swim properly
to even save a life
despite all these years growing up
treading water.

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.

Our smiles are
translucent enough to
admit the dull faded light
of bits of socializing happiness
and tired admiration
softly on our faces
but the heart in each
has a black ink sword
flowing the river styx
wedged into the arteries
searching for both the
golden magnificent humbly
carved door and also the
forbidden door of
chaos and despair
we go throughout
our lives living out
each day with a
dull face towards tomorrow
and legs and hands
and minds and mouths
performing deeds of what
we're told to do and say
how to act and how to play
the parts of those living
day by day
who will always be uncertain
of whether choosing to leave
or to stay.

Dear friend,
I wish for your
company again.

Whatever I did
wrong, I'm sorry,
for there never is
anyone as good
of a person like
you.

It's easy to take
for granted the
wonders of friends,
easy kind words
slipping throughout
the distance, a
knowing smile
exchanged and given,
laughter and sharing
of dreams and flaws,

I know what it is
to be alone and cold,
unforgiving because I
was not forgiven,
tangled up and broken
because they were reckless,
and once I thought I
would be alone forever,

but I thought after
your company, I
wouldn't mind having
true friends and being
able to share and
exchange happiness.

So, dear friend,
I wish for your
company again.
and whatever I
did wrong, I
sincerely
apologize
from the depths
of my heart.

It lived in a time
of not ruin and war
but of where cyber bullies and college core classes
lived in the spur

Of the moment,  of the long run
don't shift the audience's attention to the fallen
who work for $7-8.00 an hour
while the world tastes the fast food; greasy fake and sour

Where the only laughter
spawned from integrity and love
but when up close revealed instead selfishness and lust
as their true colors
are not the bright red, pink, blue
but are instead the shadowy parts of them that suffer
the rotting colors of remorse anger and death
and fear and sorrow too

Of not making it into college
of not living the dream
no dreams are made up of teams
although it always does seem
that our teams are made up of
spleens of broken shards
of other dreams
that were never meant to be

It doesn't know how to live for itself
without bending to the demands of others
surrounded by inhumane ******* it is compelled
to look upon the devils as fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers

Family---PAH!--- what does it mean
it means blood related flaws and neurons and genes
nothing else more to love and be seen
of all the blood types not one is serene
enough to refrain from spilling any other's blood onto the scene

It's world is ruled by technology combined with lust
the kind that urges them to live in either
the moment or the future
yes they must die doing something they love
or at least die trying.

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 or gender
slurs or stereotypes
you've got your desires
and I've got mine
amidst our starry eyes
there are demons inside
we know some things
were never mean to be
then why is it so hard
to let go and be free
because no matter
what we breed
we still are made of greed
I sit there with
a thousand pieces
of shattered glass
reflecting back to me
all the regret and remorse
of the longing ruined
desperate world who
feels among the still
and silent universe
that it was never
meant to be.

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.

Winds of wrath
strangle thoughtfulness,
pure hate courses
through veins that
suffer after effects,
like coming down from
raging high peak to
shallow heavy waters
mind engulfed in anger,
wrath upon darkness
finding satisfaction in
cold words and
the swinging of an ax,
finding sorrowful
calm in blood let loose,
relishing pain found in
the fault in our stars.

To those who mean well
but fade among the darkness,
hopelessly handing out light
stranded in a sea of empty wishes
I know you all mean well
but I wish you'd stop for once,
take a glance around and ask
yourself, what am I really living for?
Switch the lenses, take a different route
smile at the elderly but ask the young
what do you they live for?
and I will tell you that I live
for something greater than
gods and beliefs and change,
responsibilities and parent's ways,
I live for the stars, and mountains
low and high, the trail of genuine laughter
going on by, the dreams flowing
amidst the transparent silvery sea,
of finally being united and
letting ourselves roam free.

Different length and structure
of ropes binding concepts,
reactions, and people together,
but no matter how different,
we all want to be loved,
a point in our lives
where we feel the
longing of love and
sturdy clasped hands,
that gleam in the eye,
flash of a grin,
affectionate look,
small words and thoughts
slip away unnoticed by others
but stay echoing throughout
someone's mind,
strip away the pain,
break down high walls,
open up a heart and
discover we can find
ourselves in others, and
others can find themselves
in us.

Remember when we sat up there
on your roof
laughing at the stars and wishing
on the moon
and you turned to me and said,
"I wanna be with you"
but even in that moment, we already
kinda knew
that every single high would
hit the bottom low
all my broken lies would take me
far from home
stuck in my broke car driving down
the highway to hell
while thinking about how I left you
all alone
I guess "sorry to my lover and best friend"
is all I will ever know

I remain here, seated
but really I am somewhere
far away.
There is wind caressing
my hair, teasing my
sun-kissed, blushing face
while soft mounds
of earthen, rich soil
tread beneath the
soles of my
soft feet.
Vivid, rising green
valleys lying in
the west, and forests
of thick, chestnut
oak trees in the east,
while in front of me,  
cascades fields of
sunflowers, white lilies,
blossoming, silky
lavenders, gardenias,
and soft petaled roses.
In the horizon,
a magnificent sunset
graces a clear blue
sky, with shades
of draping tendrils
of lush reds, oranges,
purples, tainting
plump, white clouds
and coloring
the tops of
graceful, willow trees.

Standing on the brink of despair

perched between

the familiar grounds of a cruel world---

and the dark unknown vastness

of unexplored dangerous lands,

I relish in the warmth of your alluring smile

I trust that when all else fails me,

that is, when my reasoning and values, fail me

you will be able to

bring me back from the edge

and breathe warm life into my surroundings

because however cold and cruel it might be,

this world is the only thing that I have.

"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.

Lay me down
on a bed of roses

a coffin surrounded by
white jasmine and sunflowers

well I feel
I walked on thorns and prickly words
my whole life

it's been tough a bit
here and there
okay, maybe all the time
but life's like that right?
struggles are supposed to shape the strong person
you become
right?  

I've never really known
how to deal with
my problems created by
other people's problems and dreams
and aspirations

a dream? I can't recall what that is
anymore; I stopped a long time ago

just kidding; that's a blatant lie
for I dream everyday for a new life
or a new beginning,
or the end if nothing else is possible

one of the most recurring dreams
that play out in my head
like a black and white movie
in a run down, empty cinema

is me sitting up in bed,
realizing I don't have to let other people
effect me,
don't have to listen to them
tell me what kind of person I need to be
or all the things I need to do

if only I could just
think infinitely greater than how I feel,
if I could just stop
living in my emotions and the past
that is present in every habit and routine thing
that I do,

sometimes all the potential
a person may have
becomes too much for them
to bear,
all the endless possibilities
and visions of things carrying out differently
all tangled up with events from the past

as if my emotions and experiences
morphed into the form of a cage
in which my mind is trapped,
shaking the metal bars
and screaming out the barred window

only to fail completely
in noticing that
by simply walking around those bars,
I would be free

I suppose the coffin I lay in now
is not my final one,
for is it not that at some point
we all have to let ourselves
experience the emptiness of death
for a while,
so after we reemerge
we could know to appreciate
how it feels to be alive?

A pair of ravens fly
intertwining their paths
in the sky
dipping smoothly into the vast space
twirling and diving headfirst
rapidly falling towards tree tops
before gracefully gliding upwards
once more,
and I, watching from a distance
with my feet on solid ground
and my hands warmed by
a cup of coffee,
wish for myself a sense of
solitude and clarity
despite all the things
weighing me down
and the cruel clips that
hold my own wings captive
maybe one day
I will pick myself up off
the ground
and find the strength to
remove the chains
and set myself free,
free to fly,
free to soar among the clouds
and surrender to the beautiful
overwhelming vastness
of the world.

what if you asked me, how I was doing
and I answered
something along the lines of,
well, I've actually been very tired
for awhile now
but of course, we all are every once in a while,
so it's all good.

would you nod and leave it at that
or would you say,
well, now that I think about it,
I've been kind of feeling pretty tired too,
so why don't we talk about it.

Cheers to the
goodness in the world
I drink to and give thanks for
the ones who were once puppets
but tugged and broke free from their strings
and worked their ways towards beating hearts
thanks for those not afraid
to share their awesome worthy thoughts
with everyone else in the world
and thanks for those who might just happen to listen
such a thing as being different and true
no matter what they seem to think of you
to those who try to help others change
always pushed away but so persistent and very forgiving
thanks for their very existence
their cherishing everlasting true good selves
who know to open their eyes
and want to help the blind ones see
thank you for all the goodness in the world
and the little persistent goodness in me.

how is it
that I can imagine vastly different worlds  
and tell the stories of their people long gone
and paint the linings of universes
near and far,

but I can't seem to
make myself face my own reality
within this world,
my head weighed down like a block of granite
corroding in acidic water,

I used to feel apologetic,
scribbling sorry on tiny scrapes of paper
and tucking them on people's windowpanes
but now, I feel empty headed
and blank,
incapable of making myself think,
stuck laying on my bed in the dark,
staring at the ceiling
in the middle of the night

how is it that in this world,
I can't seem to find anyone to talk to
not even just one person
who'd be willing to listen to what I have to say
with no judgement and pity attached,  

how is it that ever since I was young,
I realized I'd rather live
the lives of other people,
wishing I could dive right into the stories I read,
morphing myself into the main character
with their assured happy lives and endings,

how is it that
I can only get this far in my life

During the night,
I can already envision the early morning,
when the city breaks
and the sky overhead
begins shading over its stars
with lighter tones of blue paint.
Around seven, traffic will emerge
and carry on into the distance,
dad and I stuck in the left lane
while the bikers pass in a blur.
Up ahead, the buildings and sidewalks
will be brimming with people
shuffling along,
making up a solitary flowing crowd
of masked,
expressionless figures,
one that I will have to blend into.
In the room, the seats in the middle
are usually claimed first
so I go and sit up in the back
with my notebook open,
scratching and scribbling away,
filling up blank pages with my blank mind.
In a room full of people,
I am a nameless face in the crowd,
and it has become my conditioned
preference of a lifestyle.
On smooth buses jammed full,
and on sidewalks and through intersections
full of people always crossing
to the other side and back,
I am emerged in the movement,
and engulfed in the crowd.
I can envision it all playing out
in my head,
while laying on my bed
and staring at the ceiling
at one in the morning,
because all of it has already
happened before,
over and over and
over again.

It is 7 in the evening of a June day,
a time when the sky overhead
becomes a shade of ocean,
a submerging grapefruit sunset's last rays
combating the rise of darkening blue waves,

the cool air's lingering scent
of faded flowers and sparse dry grass
mingles with hazy fumes of exhaust
trailing from the continuous stream of cars
running down the roadway,

I lean on the side of someone's truck,
the cool, soft night wind
brushing against my face and neck
taking in the backdrop
of streetlamps lighted orange
and the shadowy outlines of large, wispy trees,

one ear listening to regretful sad songs,
the other tuned to car engines
with wheels fast enough to appear suspended
in time for a split second
before disappearing out of reach,

can't help but wonder
why all of these things occurring together
make me feel so small and invisible,
a bystander taking refuge on the borders of town,
always on the outside; only able to peer in,
as everyone's lives play before my eyes
here in one split suspended moment
and then gone the next,

waiting for someone's response
to the desolate, harrowing loneliness
that engulfs me like a blanket
as overwhelming as the nightfall's sky,
the silence prevailing over my regretful sad songs,
the grayness of an empty existence
completely enveloping the orange lights
of the streetlamps,

perhaps when the sky becomes
overwhelmingly more ocean,
maybe only then, I will know.

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.

She was very much lost
between the boundaries
of the vast space of the unknown
and the place of no return,
trapped within the space
between two unfamiliar dark worlds,
she peers out straining her eyes
in vain to see beyond
the glittering city's walls and the tapered off grounds
and receives no redemption
for her curiosity,
but only the hushed voices
and concerned stares of the
figures in masquerades
one by one, they usher her
away from the crystalline windows
and gently urge her
back into the masked ball
under a glistening chandelier
and the soothing haunted notes of a violin
and the red delicacies and sugary sweets
on the polished marble tops
soon, she is lost, completely immersed
in the melody and transparency
of the masquerade ball
as the two worlds outside the window
loom overhead, threatening to engulf
the illusion as a whole.

This feeling of uselessness and empty happiness
has become something I depend on
to get through each day,
one by one flowing into years, then decades.
I can't remember if there was ever a time
when I didn't feel this way--
an alert, naive, too-trusting mindless bird
darting this way and that, searching and searching
for love, compassion, and acceptance;
anything that was warm.
Then gradually, alone in my room,
I begin to grow up,
my body stretching, my mind struggling
with all the new space that's appeared in my head,
while getting accustomed to bleakness, uncertainty,
and a sense of mourning for a better life story.
The expectations just get persistent,
while the people I care about begin to wear out,
and I continue to spend my days wandering around,
feeling faded and useless at the time of my prime.
I know how fortunate I am, how good my conditions are
compared to most people, the intentions are true and priceless
with love and sacrifice.
But sometimes, I can't help but wish
I could have been able to walk my own path from the start--
not having to focus on solely being successful,
but discovering what actually makes me happy,
and being able to make it my lifestyle.
At this point, wanting to be genuinely happy seems selfish,
ungrateful, and a crime
because my happiness isn't valuable or profitable,
or useful, or worth the sacrifices and investment
put into making the future a brighter place to envision.
I hope I begin to do better,
that I begin to put all my effort into improving myself
for the my own sake, and for the worn out people I care about.
I guess this might be my own quiet, selfless sacrifice,
lost among the prevailing expectations
that I do well regardless.

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.

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.