As unpersonal rain
floods my whole existence
and my eyes can not hold back:
I dwell upon myself to see
a whole new being in you.
A fatal image of us both
reminds me of a cold winter
and a mirage on a hot summer's day.
Caught in a flash of another
world where we became one.
And the noise is overwhelming.
it tears us apart, we are left
standing . . . .
and we are two vulnerable
people in an unknown world.

let me be alone

when i show you my work, you tell me i have talent
but here is the truth - loneliness is the key to cultivation
anyone else in the room is a hawk in wait
every sound i hear is a step closer
i can measure in seconds how long until they look
there is something weak in being a poet
and something that should be hidden
the concept of poetry is something too unusual and too emotional and too weak



2. let me hide myself

you tell me i have talent, but i tell myself i have this insecurity:
im worried of writing too beautifully, im worried of being too personal or too unpersonal, im worried,
the thing i desire most is a disconnect between the words on the screen-

-and my keystroke fingers typing them
a wire sheared in half, red and blue cords spitting out of their black cage, neutrons and protons that will never reach a destination
it will be better if i'm reading another's work and not my own



3. let me have other dreams

i have this insecurity, but i also have big dreams
i dreamt of starting government rebellions with pens and ink
i dreamt of fantasy worlds with their own big bang: my first word
i dreamt of heroes battling with swords while i battle for the best phrases

but these are only things i dream about
and poetry books are not full-length novels or epics
i will never have inspiration for fifty thousand words or reach into double-digit chapters
but i wish i could



4. let me have this dream

i have big dreams
and this is why i will show you my work

The night, young and  already passing
Never meant to be held for long
Brings a symphony of quiet sounds
Empty and cold against the backdrop
Of cold and unpersonal city lights

Bottles clink and echo in a silent backstreet
As shells of a night's earnings get discarded in a dumpster
And the radiator drips and drops
Accompanied by the sound of a ticking clock

Seconds string together moments
And they're always already gone

Before me the future stretched out
Once broad and promising
Now small and narrowing
It's promise unkept,
Abandoned on the verge of bitter forgetfulness

So what is it
That still hangs on
Is it hope, hamstrung
Stubbornly limping along

The moments know to always let go
And in the eye of the universe
I have already gone

Yet something clings on
And it is hesitant
frail and bashful
Afraid but wanting
Burning to be felt

In my mind resentful
Something splits apart
And I am holding now
Two handfuls
Of something that used to beat a heart