"temporariness" poems
I feel like a sick lady waiting for well wishes from my sisses and mates. I’ve been a giver and a settler and in three weeks, I found myself hanging in between. And now here I am, in my sickbed crying for attention— living in this pocket-sized, time-filler, slick box for most of my days just prying on everybody else’s lives to check how incomparable it is to live a life less like mine.
Everyday at five, the sun sets, overshadowing the blue sky with soft transitions of reds and oranges. And just right before I knew it days, weeks have already gone by. I found myself with nothing but dull empathy and collective misery. I re-spiraled down to the mantle of my being until it hit me— attention is cheap, but intention is gold. And I have wasted so much time, so much time, chasing the idea of perfect romance from the most impossible people. It made me worry, too, on how bad I have been in making decisions just to curtly satisfy my longing for any human who can provide even the slightest damp on my cold skin.
I’m not trying to compose a self-help quotable narrative nor shit-shit essay about self-love. I have stripped off the idea of 1-2-3s, of healthy coping mechanisms, of capturing perfect moments from the most mediocre, mundane fragments of life during my trying times. These past few encounters have been merely playdates and guessing games where I’ve lost sight of innocence and sincerity, making it hard for me to differentiate temporariness with permanence. And knowing kindness with or without an agenda is like a cloud in my head. Therefore, throughout these years, the flowers I planted have slowly wilted under the shade of infinite uncertainties. I have lost the love I was willing to give, and I can’t help but think that romance is not for me. I’m tired of giving and losing; I have given up moving mountains and breaking walls just to find myself being stabbed for being too much. From this day on, I am going to be me, with me. A bloke. A woman—alone in a swarm of parasites and flock of birds. A strong, pragmatic, detached woman in this horrifying epic journey of self-salvation.
—Advent
3:27am
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
I can already feel myself healing, growing, getting happier. It doesn't hurt so much when I see you because I know you are still in my life - for now.
Gone are the days when I knew you were mine forever.
But at least you are with me.
For now.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
I am my //thoughts at 3 am // broken and shattered // within the silence // my mouth is shut // there is nothing to indulge // not even the air particles // It hurts so much // to feel // to sense // to even be human // to be me // actually.
I just want to // go home // but // I don't know // if it even ever // existed // I just want to get away from people // I hate // the temporariness // it 's wrapped around my neck // like a string // more like a rope // for // every tear that falls // from my eyes // my neck // my chest //my heart // my feelings // burned relentlessly.
I want // to drive // I want // to breathe // I want to go // on a road trip // to the furthest destination // to a beach // with the darkest sky // the lightest shade // turquoise sea // the brightest stars // to fulfill the night // I want to lay // on the beach // pretend // the sand in my life // didn't bury me // I didn't suffocate // I wanted to lay // there for so long // that I would // forget I exist // similar to // the way // I ignore my feelings // for so long// just so that I forget // how to feel.
Sometimes // I wonder why // wouldn't the stars // just fall in my arms // the future // the unknown //
I'm afraid // of drowning // once those feelings // become // too heavy.
everything is labeled // life is // like a side effect // slowly // killing me// I want to // seize many moments // replay them // I want to forget // and forget // just forget // I am human // that // I once existed // leave no trace behind // disappear into the atmosphere //
I want // impossibilities // to turn // into realities // those thoughts // the scene of them // it could make // everyone // flee // I love to make them wonder // how long those lived // wandering // in my head // how I became // a prisoner in my own mind // with my own will // I cant // flee // from the human // I am destined to be // I can // never have enough // wanting so much.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC
I have been trying to stop romanticizing introductions
Attempting to grasp the reality
That not everyone I meet is a potential soulmate
My mind was just born open I guess
Conditioned to want to love at first sight
I am more so addicted to people than I am smoking
I have been trying my hardest
To keep my expectations low
Understand that not everybody has the intention of staying
I have had too many hellos turn into goodbyes
And
Too many hugs turn to leaving
I had been trying
To learn the opposite of welcome
Embrace temporariness with arms as wide as my eaget heart
So when we met
On a directionless sunday
In the living room you were calling home for the week
Know that
It took everything in my power
To not let down my guard
It wasn't until the quiet of the night
That I realized
I had already dropped
Goodnight turned to words to questions
To 3am caress
I was in your arms before I could even stop myself from letting go
But you
Are not the meaningless
One night momentary bliss I am used to
You
Are everything I have tried to avoid
For fear of losing again
I am trying to figure out how it is possible
That you are the kind of thing I'd been attempting to refrain from
Yet exactly what I want at the same time
You are the nicotine from the 5am cigarrette on your last night in town
Your goodbye serving as reminder to everytime I have been let down
But there was more hope in your seven letter goodbye
Than there is in any poem I have ever written
I am saying grace in a language that I still do not fully understand
And although both distance and time
Are two names that usually define ending
I see beginning
I see different
When we kissed
I could taste the promise of future on your lips
My hands spelled out in the creases of your back
Said exactly the same as you did before you left
Said please don't forget me
So please
Don't.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
cinnamon tea in a chipped
thrift store mug
a minute ago
it was too hot
and now it's too cold
here and there
fast and then faster still
it all happened so quickly
i barely had the chance to blink
it all happened before i even
had the chance to stop and think
but the red light on 6th street
lasts a minute longer at midnight
and that's where i usually
come into my remembering
sometimes revelations hit you
less like a brick and more like a burn
it's a kind of hurt that stings longer
than the bruise of the initial blow
i guess you never know
when the last time
becomes the last
it happened so fast
you forgot all the times
you ached so ardently
you thought you'd become
symbiotic with the pain
but the idyllic recollections always linger
like scalding hot shower steam
hanging around a winter room
you illusioned elation because
it felt better than the truth
it was the last time
but somewhere deep down
you already knew
you held the feeling in your gut
begging for countered proof
you've unfolded the understanding
became transparent with the pattern
joy is punctuated by brevity
the very reason it tasted so sweet
on the tip of your tongue
time follows a template
of give and take
the longer you live
the more natural it becomes
to see your fair share of loss
and you know everything ends
you know the swift current of this
breathtaking experience in space
is the temporariness of existence
but why does everyone leave
a minute ago they were here, now
the sureness you cultivated is ripped to shreds
and thrown like confetti in the wind
and love is carried away
like it never held any weight at all
the wheel spins,
the last time
becomes the last
and yet again
you become just another piece
of someone else's past
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 11:19 PM UTC
It's hard to breathe when all your regrets are bouncing in your chest
that hollowness
and the never-ending echo that vibrates throughout my entire body
Have I made a mistake?
All the connecting, glowing, and seemingly sweet certainties have faded
I stand here stricken
My accomplishments in hand
And crumbling
Pieces of the last few years forming into an outline of your face
My fingertips pulsate with warmth as i recall your touch
I've never felt anything
Anyone
So perfect
So smooth and soft and unreal
Moments like these never last, do they?
We were so tired and yet so eager
To intertwine
Fixated on deep breathing
The flavours of eachother's mouths
And the momentary synchronisation of our existences
You're always so busy
And i'm always leaving
It hurts to entertain the idea
Beyond temporariness
But i can't help myself
I know you told me to say it less and yet
I am still sorry
I will always wish for a chance to get to know you
And for that I am not sorry
For once
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:04 AM UTC
It wasn't until my acceptance of the fragility and temporariness of life that I was able to embrace the obscurities of the universe
Although,
Its nature, incomprehensible
I begin to understand
The anatomy of all life is as extraordinary as the number of grains of golden sand
And that even I,
A mere spec in God's eye
Am just a man...
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
Like the love we keep fighting for
Life sometimes we don't know the core,
Questions the things we can't fathom
Why do we keep on holding on?
Things happen, fast-paced
Like one minute temporary bliss,
Things happen, creeping all over the place
Like the seemed-endless sadness
Temporariness in everything
Moments, people, feelings,
Like making friends out of strangers
Making strangers out of friends
Is it because things happen for a reason
Or they happen because of a reason,
When things get out of control
And choice, the only thing left not to fall
And when to choose it not the best choice
For in this world, nothing's so sure,
When even our inner voices
Couldn't help things be endured
Terrified, that's how we become
The way the universe put things on our palm,
To feel that, we need to feel this
To have that, we need to get through this
But sometimes, we tend to lose the reason
And it keeps us from going on,
And cause it's hard, it's now easy
To fall out of love with this life of weary
But hey! Life it is
Spontaneity is its thing,
Isn't it makes life more exciting
Serendipity, wondrous as it could be
The highs, extraordinary
The lows, we wish to bury
And the mundane things in between
They were all supposed to happen
Twas never really about the choices
Twas about feeling everything- the bliss, the sadness
And that's what keeping us on falling in love
With this life we will ever have.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
Ever heard of anxiety?
Just the word itself feels like eternity
A feeling that is born to multiply infinite
Still indefinite for the definite
Well, I have the social anxiety
That sounds like a self diagnosis
But every nanosecond I am going through metamorphosis
I do not have the profession to state this reliable confession
I know we are all different
But I know we are the same when it comes to biology
I am not saying this for unity
The sad thing is I cannot sell this brain for rent
Yet the hardest needed medication is empathy
For this distorted mentality
Why do you have to hurt when I am already in hell, reality?
Now shifting to maladaptive tendencies
I am not afraid of the crowd
I have fear they will not let me just be myself all year round
Say something positive
I will always flip it into something negative
Because I am provocative
Please see that as a prerogative
Do not be interrogative
This brain is too active for the inactive
Imaginative radioactive
Lacking in the interactive
Yet the fact that is also not enough
I am not enough is not enough
Since my problem is not in the physical
It is in the mental
And it is never going to turn only rental
Say you are only temperamental
Body burning like metal
Stuck in the bungalow
Now that they are all after the afterglow
Oh, when will it show?
The sweat excess
In this overthinking process
Overthinking the fact that we are all wired in "survival of the fittest"
Oh, brain! Just let me rest!
Can I just leave this to tomorrows' nests?
How can I show my best
When I need medication regardless
When will I find egress to this madness?
This is fine
Since suffering will lead you to happiness
Even for temporariness
What is worse is that it repeats
Until you are out of line
It was better all along if I became a mime
Better 'off with my head'
Better off dead
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 8:08 AM UTC
temporariness
is one of the most scary truths we must face as humans
everything in our lives is passing
the hair on our heads
the stain of a sharpie
even the sun
is temporary.
will your love for me be temporary?
will it fade when the collagen in my skin weakens
when my eyes no longer sparkle as they used to
when there is nothing left but an ancient soul in a frail old woman
will it fade then?
in short, what i am asking is
will your love be unlike everything else, and stand the test of time?
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 11:38 PM UTC
People always leave. People are temporary. Even the person you love the most, will leave you on a Sunday morning. She'll kiss you goodbye, for the last time.
But you wouldn't know that it's the last. You won't.
When you look back, you'll reminisce how she lingered in those fleeting moments, right before she walked away. You'll remember where her hands touched you, where her lips rested on your skin. You'll remember every bit of it.
On terrible nights, you'll find yourself screaming. "How could you?" Of all the people in the world, I trusted that you would stay. Out of all the temporariness, all the flux, all the transience —you were supposed to be the only exception.
You think about calling them, then you'd be reminded that it's not your place anymore. You almost do, but something stops you. You remember these words you've read. It went something like —
People always leave. People are temporary. Even the person you love the most, will leave you on a Sunday morning. She'll kiss you goodbye, for the last time.
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 3:33 AM UTC
1. On Sundays, I always get the urge to fake my death. To run away into the sun, to leave my bones behind in my bed, in my tomb. They’ll look for me, when Monday blooms, like winter on the exhale of a child. Painting everything in its too cold to hold pinks, and bruised blues. I’ll be in a place that’s warmer. A place that doesn’t break, when I bend. I know it’s selfish to want people to mourn you. But I’ve always loved funerals more than weddings, I’ve always been attached to the idea of grief.
2. I want to celebrate the dying of light. I’d carry my heart like a sword, lodged through my chest. I want to be the bright, exploding burst of fireworks against the void. I want to be memories cracking like lightning on a prairie, seconds before a final breath. I want to be the last word on this world’s lips. I want to be everything and nothing all at once.
3. When they write about me, they will write about me as if I were nothing but a smoke and mirror trick. Someone that was too big for their bones, so they chewed their way through them. The same way a dog chews its ways through the bars of a cage. I have always been aware of my own temporariness. Have always held myself, the same way the air holds rains. That is to say, I slip right through. I fall to the ground, and become something else entirely. I have never completely owned this state of being. I have always been my own unbecoming.
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 8:02 AM UTC