For a moment I almost thought
my life was normal
the beings in my life caring
my restless soul finally developing
into something more bright and daring
but everything consisting of happiness
always seem to be an illusion
the false light of
a brighter dawn.

So I'll gaze up at the sky
let a tear or so
or a thousand few more
course down my cheeks
then I'll crawl back underneath
my secluded rock
and wait for the universe
to end so that
there will be no one to
judge me so that
I may finally crawl back out.

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.

When I turned the pages of a book
I was reminded of a friend
who longed for a certain order
in the world,
as this one could never
fulfill the hidden premises
and strange moments with overlapping
sparks of discovery
needed for an artist, or in other words,
a soul who saw through
different lenses,
could never fulfill
the enchanting turns of change and
unexpectedness needed to
ignite an artist's dreams and passions,
if they ever did
make themselves known.

The hands outstretched in front
of me are strong and well developed
yet can be gentle and hardworking
earnest and able to hold on
tight and never let go

the legs and feet I stand upon
are healthy young and
functional and well
are able to go places
can retrace steps and find
the right path to walk on

the face I see every morning
when I wake up and peer
at the mirror above my bathroom
sink is young and emotional
sturdy yet uncertain
a landscape of feelings regret
experience and time

there are so many things I have
so that I may not have to
be so dependent on others
and all the complaints that make
up each second of the world
I won't be made known for
or acknowledged for
such pestering thoughts and
sorrow said aloud

Starting now as much as
I can I'll attempt to not
rely on people so much
to expect too much care
or emotion for anything and
instead just end up
disappointing myself when
having to acknowledge that
nobody cares as much as I
thought they would because
it's me

I will get somewhere in life
without holding onto
someone's hand and without
dreaming of walking along
someone else's pathways or
looking for someone to
satisfy my every demand
because I know there are
no such people for me.

I am lost
within the trembling threshold
of my life.

Days merging together
voices dragging, dripping
with illusion

I sit there
and listen,

I walk
to and fro,

I eat
and eat and
eat
only to throw it all back up.

I come back to
my bittersweet, lovely
poetry

I read
and read
liking
collecting every word
every tear shaped phrase and longing sigh,

There is
a mass of monsters
their collective voices
drilling
into my head,
tearing at
my chest

Shut up
please,
take back
the excuses

I'm just
trying
to be a good person,

but you all
are making it
so difficult.

Don't
give me what I don't want,
I don't care--
about anything.

Oh my god

I never
asked,
for any of this.

But
this is
what I was given

although
I hate it so much,
there's nothing I can do.

There once was a person
who thought it'd hate the world
full of grievances mishaps and cruelty
it shone a false light on the rising day
mouths of ignorant deities
moving twisted in motion
lies schemes and withered lives
plotting and living with or without say
bustling clawing towards
the false light of a better day

but as the being grew
and came to experience traumas
dealt with pain stress anxiety remorse
towards the people of the world
closest and most vulnerable to
darkness and disarray
it couldn't help but feel a need
to reach out it's hand for
the single ray of warmth and gratitude
reflecting off of certain beings
happening to make up the cruelty
of the world

the being felt a need to
speak out and stand
admidst the ever flawed universe
it so very much desires with a fiery pain
to be different in such a way that
it can't be called an inhabitant
of such misery and pain
of which the world displays
upon itself

and that mere thought
that feeling of defiance
happened to be sparked by
the interactions with other beings
who happened to share the same thought

so as long as you can
reach out for those among the stars
who wish to be different in hopes of
changing the traits of the world
you are not alone and
no longer is all of the world
a dark and twisted place to reside in.

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.

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.

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.

why do I keep coming back here
it's like I miss you
and I want you to miss me,
it's like I crave for your attention
the way you speak about gazing at the stars
or languishing in the airy sea breeze
it's like I wish you would also feel...
that very same way about me,
why is it that when I think of you
I feel as fluttery as white air
like you let loose a thousand butterflies
right into my open stomach
as a joke... without any real care,
why do I want to see you
and long to be held in your arms
even when somewhere in the back of my mind
I know you are just playing along to my obsession
over you and your perfect imperfections,
someone who will listen throughout the depth of night's darkness
to hear your lonely smiling cries,
why do I keep coming back here
it's like I miss you...
and I want you to miss me.

It's the gray light raindrops
trailing down outside my bathroom window
the airy ruffles and chill and crunchy dry leaves
of a crisp autumn day
a moment peering up
at the twinkling diamond night sky
a proud footing on high fields or the grass growing from between the cracks in a sidewalk
watching the fiery reds and purples
of a rising expectant sun god
and a sinking weary sun warrior
it's the light salty spray
of the heavy dark blue ocean
the sandy footprints
of a lone figure watching the tide along the shoreline drift back towards the horizon
a muffled bright light
behind booming tainted clouds
the small figures
of a boy and a rabbit looking down from the moon
it's nature
small bits of light
flecks of calm and contentedness
breathtaking whispers and delicious airy shivers
a parting in the soul
as a piece of it is left there
to find another's
and be united and free.

I've been thinking too much,
help me..
like how my soul would reach across
the vast and cloudy white sky into universes beyond,
and how I'd like to gather up only
the good pieces of everyone,
the kind and caring moments
like the sprinkles on a cake overflowing with sugar,
and then when I open my eyes
all I can see are rolling farmlands and green plains,
a light gray sky filled with seagulls at the
shoreline of the blue blue salty sea,
a twinkling starry night sky with shooting stars
with a great full moon illuminating my corner of the sky,
oh, what sights
my dreams; oh, they are mine,
and I want them so very much
and I want someone too,
but I am too much
of a coward to pursue them...
I've been thinking too much,
help me.

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.

I was thinking about reaching out to the stars, when I suddenly felt this cold grip on me… and all in a rush, it brought me back down to reality. I remember listening to the beating of my own heart, feeling the rushing river of blood flowing through my body; I thought it was a miracle that I lived… even when there were those around me who were begging to die. I looked around and thought that everybody was okay; we were all getting along fine and there were still golden airy days, there was shimmering summer rain and silver moonlit dances… but as I got older, I looked around again and saw that behind all the smiles, the facades, the cheer and good times…  nobody was okay. And I thought that I was okay, but when I looked at myself carefully for the first time I saw my heart was very faint, and my happiness was collapsing and my soul was about to wither away. I thought that I could save myself and everyone else if I calmly took off my mask, and showed them who I really was. But just when I was opening my eyes and reaching out for the stars,  I felt this cold grip on me, and it suddenly brought me back down to reality… where everything was just an illusion that everybody was happy living in. Because I realized all along that I had just been using others as an excuse to reveal the truth, to smile in the pouring rain and let it wash away my sorrows… to let go and soar free. But it turns out that it had been just me all along, and everybody else is fine… just the way they are.

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.

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.

life is like
a jumbled up dis-assortment of ropes
all tangled up together  
squeezing the life out of each other
loosening ties and letting go
shaping in daggers, poised sharply in the air
forming into hearts, developing into care
some are question marks
for the infinite number of possible loops in the world
others twirl and dance
looking for solitude in the mess,
life is like questioning good or bad
how they merged like two rivers into an endless ocean
brimming with shiny remorseful fish
the beams of sunlight can only reach so far
into the depths of the sea,
life is like two people seated across from each other
questioning their sincerity
asking when their threads started to unravel
or when they started to tangle and seem alive,
life is like me
sending my love out to someone a thousand miles away
because we are all people
who need to love and be loved.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Moonlight shimmering
dripping over my closed eyes
I drink silver tears

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.

It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair,
struggling as you climb the mountain
in an internal uphill battle for something
you never knew what to make of,
lost in the throes of other people's demands
while facing personal demons alone,
people's voices all mingling together
and brushing past your head,
leaving you dazed and isolated
as you can't seem to figure out how to
join in the conversation
and be a part of the flurry of life
happening all around you
because inside you, it never feels like
much is happening,
it's like your capability of perceiving
anything good has been switched off,
like someone violently flicked at it
and beat it in with a hammer
and stomped on it before tossing it into
the back of the memory room, where nothing
is ever remembered or taken back out again
and now when looking through
the lenses of your eyes,
everything is drab and gray, like a discoloring
filter has been applied to make sure you see
things for what they really are,
so that then there's never a chance to
mistake anything for being anything else
that you might have wanted it to be,
so you can remember to always remind yourself
that nothing, and no one, is there for you
and will ever be there for you,
because they are all caught up in the present,
a time when you are utterly insignificant
because one day someone decided to
reach back into the back of your head
and lower your voice and expressions several notches
below silence,
because it was better that way for everyone else's
convenience
they wouldn't have to worry anymore
about hearing your cries of help or anxiousness
of being lost in the throes of other people's decisions
for you
they wouldn't have to hear you
express any doubt or show your real longing
during a time when you were still able to
dream or recall a hazy yet bright idea
of what you wanted to do or study
of the life you might have wanted to make for yourself,
they wouldn't have to take care of you
when you broke down from trying to
dodge expertly concealed insults and recited misfortunes
being hurled at you from all directions
the only kind of pity present in your life
is self-pity and remorse,
self-pity because no one's pity would ever
be enough to accommodate
and remorse because you were never
good enough in the first place
and you know it all too well
and it hurts, that you can't even make things
better for yourself while fighting a fight
that ain't fair
because you don't know how to.

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?

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.

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

And I...

I wanna live
not just survive

tonight.

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.

Neurons travel and wind
around your head like
draping tree branches, Christmas lights,
strings of tangled red yarn
weaving a possible
fate.

When the cords are
simply content with
remaining relatively still,
being with you
is like
sailing on smooth,
tranquil, clear blue waters
of a vast, magnificent
ocean,
a blossomed sunset
in the distance
dripping on white, sandy shores
of an island of lost paradise
awaiting our arrival.

But when the cords
flail and twist, tying each other
into knots and cutting off
the clearness
and levelheadedness of thought,
being with you
is like
trying to hang on to
the back of a typhoon,
frigid black waters flailing,
crashing against
foamy, thick quicksand,
roars and curses of a
tyrant sea god
raging seas of water against
the skies,
rapidly expelling
hurtful, sharp anchors and lunging
them to the bottom
of our sandy beds.

And I wonder
what it would be like had I
possessed more
powerful features
as your sea goddess,
as the moon and stars
from above,
and the sandy beds
below that would
catch both
hurtful anchors and
salty tears
you let loose.

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.

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.

People out there who think
they're alone I want to tell them
that they're not; we all suffer from
causes of misunderstandings,
ingratitude and from the rest of
the world's conflicts;the only difference is
how we react and live with it each day.
If we unite together, we can make a
difference and find true happiness
no matter how much they poison or suppress us
using society and reality's flaws. The first step is
to start doing your best so that
you won't have to be dependent on other people
So when the time comes to get out there
and truly find yourself, no one will be
able to hold you back. With desire comes strength
patience, and endurance, but it'll be worth it
in the end when you're free and independent....
when you're able to say you've found true happiness
and a place of where you belong.... and that you're no longer alone.

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.

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.

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 said I was okay
and you believed me???
Let me tell you what is wrong with me
I'm tired
That's all...
I'm tired of getting hurt
I'm tired of getting let down
I'm tired of lies
I'm tired of caring too little, and not caring at all
I'm tired of not eating
I'm tired of holding it in
I'm tired of feeling, broken, damaged, selfless, worthless, never-good-enough pain
I'm tired of being judged for everything I do
I'm tired of all my flaws, and insecurities
I'm tired of trying
I'm tired of getting my hopes up
I'm tired of feeling like ****
I'm tired of being me

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.

If I stood very still; lightly on the soles
of my feet
head tipped back, eyes drinking in the stars
cheekbones swimming
in splashes of silver moonlight
the milky way would continue to sway,
and the universe might swirl
to swallow me whole.

Even after perishing,
I would strain to let every fragment of light know
that I have already experienced
that intense feeling of overwhelming loss,
the sense of being swallowed whole by a greater entity

that I have already experienced those phenomenons
in the daily life of a small, insignificant
human being
one of 7.7 billion on this earth

being swallowed by the fast paced conventions
of society,
being sunken further in the soles of my shoes
by the heavy weight of expectations
and burdens implemented by others' judgement,

being cast to the shadows
as an outcast
from the group of uniform peers, moving in unison
marching to a rhythm found in their interior systems,
one that I lack

being utterly alone and drained of light,
laying like a corpse on my suffocating bed in the stillness
of the dark night,

so, there you go.
After all of that mess that I am supposed to call my life,
you surely can't be surprised
by my indifference to being swallowed by the universe
as melting stars run down my cheeks
like the tears of my soul,
as it begins to sob
throughout the night.

I will forever be a wanderer
lightly floating upon people's
forbidden & long forgotten dreams
caressing the smiles that come
and go in a split second when
reminded that there is nothing to rejoice in
I will sit by the foot of your bed
watch over you as you sleep
breathe in and out
chest and stomach rising and falling
air rushing in nose and out mouth
breathe so that I may will you
to do something I was not able to
please
forgive
move on
and live.

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

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.

It's that trembling threshold,
the standpoints in between time
where the seconds line up
one by one,
and the dread...
trickles in with a devilish delight,

so just build a sturdy
enveloping enclosed towering wall,
made with shimmering colors
and the so- called goodness
of your world
make it shine so that
whatever you do, you
won't ever see your reflection,

Pour the state of mind
into the so- called
success of your kind,
your age, your society, your time,
even though it might hurt
to tread on a thousand glistening knives
all the way towards something
you never really cared for,
just do it,

Speak as if with
renewed strength, passion, liveliness,
paint your face beautiful
for the world to see,
although each smile of yours
may cost a thousand diamond night skies
a twinkle in the eye may cost
a fortune of the gods',
give them away to world
as if they had all been free from the start,

why do all this,
why put yourself through this,
because the little girls may see
the value behind raggedy kind dolls
but grownups, the know-it-all(s) don't
and they won't ever be able to get over
the missing buttons,
the lopsided care free smile,
the tangled loose hair,

So put on a show for them,
give them what they want
stitched back up together
stripped of worse
put on display for the world to see,
because the hardest part is not
only changing the world,
but having to change yourself in the process
to even receive recognition from it.

You are like a
cool gentle breeze in the trees
whistling your sweet tune
and dancing your fingers through
my hair
like a silver stream of moonlight
on patches of silky worn grass
my feet run across
to get to your outreached
arms of pale morning sunlight
that make the sky
blush into cool shades
of rose, jade, lilac,
and peach
your laugh gushes
like a waterfall blue and white
spraying across
the rocks and evergreen I come
to perch on
when all inspiration for ideas
have dried into
strips of sour plums
and I am left feeling
a crazed thirst for the energy drained away
you are as light as a Cloud
white, often times stained
sunset pink and orange
so filling yet so translucent
in that my ideas
pass right through you
and become forever lost
like airplanes with blinking lights
and no destinations
flying across your endless horizon
of thoughtful evening stars
every time I close my eyes
and breathe
you are there fluttering underneath
my eyelids
smoothing my creased forehead
pulling my mouth up into an
upturned crescent moon
placing your palms
against mine
just to let me know
you are there
though only a fragment of
my imagination
you are simply
the stillness in every moment
encapturing a person's presence
to be carried in
the winds of change
yet brought back time and again
when hope has stilled
and home seems like a desert
that you bring
rain to.