reply#4 Little Flowers

black hummingbird flying near flower

Photo by kendall hoopes on Pexels.com

 

The day my heart peeked out of the window

I learned to see the beauty of the night’s view

I get the feeling that I want to end this day with your shadow 

If I were to be honest, I would like to go home on my own

It’s a day when my self-esteem really hits rock bottom

I can’t see everyone like this

so please take care

I’m going home

As I slowly walk

I never knew that a sidewalk could be filled with beautiful lamps too

They shine so bright wherever they might be

And the tears truly won’t stop dampening this beautiful view

It makes me tremble 

I wasn’t always this weak

Do you know my feelings?

As today passes by whenever that might be

the little flowers are now pressed on to the sidewalk

when the wind rattled the trees branches

the cold wind that knows what you’re going through

but still helps you anyway

Praying that I am not hurting as much as the pressed flowers on the pavement

When the rain slams on every window

waking up the night with her nuisance

All the painful memories will be heard and watched once again

and those little flowers will fall more of them

You came out of the taxi and rushed to touch me on my back

Wherever we might be I cried with you that night

And told me you’ll erase all my painful memories whatever they might be

I could care less about what people are going to see or if they have something to say

but I knew your working shirt was fully drenched with my sweat and tears

This unfortunate and poor me

What is there to do?

I can wash your T-shirt and make it look brand new

It would smell new flowers too.

More than anything today, I feel that I have to be grateful and in pain

as I understand what’s attacking me on that day inside of me

I ran off and told you to take care

as I followed the shadow that sees me

I grew to love this way 

holding your hand whenever that might be

and cry trembling out of fear and fatigue

 

These little flowers are falling endlessly

The sidewalk that we are now walking on are filled with little flowers without even knowing that we have changed

Glowing and shining with our bright smiles

Have I really lived on just like this?

And thought I was holding your hand?

wanting to do whatever, however I can

I’ve learned that I can be loved like this

If by chance, I’ll learn to glow like the lamps and the stars

I’ll shine brightly for you even on evenings of freaking mistakes and troubled hearts too when sad nights and weekend offs are drenched with warm tears 

As I watch the first fall of these little flowers this year right now

In this moment that we share together

I want to give you my all

You’ll know more of my heart and won’t be counting days such as today in your head

Look at me, don’t cry, I’ll stay by your side

With you wherever there are little flowers and shining lights might still be

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Reply # 3: I’m sorry

You and I, inside a bowl of memory
Memories filled with moments of sweetness and warmth
The two of us
Reminiscing those feelings again
We laugh, we cry
Together, we did everything

Were you left with the same warmth and longing, too?
Or perhaps, was I someone different in your view?
Would you please tell me?
I want to ask you, I want to know
If I were the only one perceiving things positively
What memories were you left with?

It feels like I’m always alone
Talking to myself alone, I’m talking to myself on my own
Always having my own thoughts
Telling stories that I wish you know
Feelings of defeat and shame
Was I this indifferent all along?
When I thought of you
When I walked this road with you
When I was inside my head, you looked profoundly happy
A story of delusion, a piece of obsession

I was awfully bad
I was selfish to the very end
Did you struggle more?
Because of me, this happy memory becomes resentment
When I look at you, I’m sadder than ever
Until the end

You left me
Now I’m pursuing this memory
Memories of you forgetting me without a hint of doubt
Like this, you and I, collapsed
This story of our irreconcilable differences
When I look back, can I take back
All the good memories we cherish?

I’m sorry, Sorry, so sorry that I am sorry
I’ll be fine now that I am sorry
I’m sorry

Reply # 2: Selene to Endymion (the distance between us)

 

 

After awhile, your sleeping figure has caught my eyes. I, the goddess of the moon personified, have my gaze set upon you

I smiled to myself so I could endure not reaching for your face

 

Standing at the edge of your life, dearest, If only I have known, I would have thrown everything away to be by your side

 

In the darkness of the night, though you never see my stride or hear my cries, you shall have my wings so you too can fly. To be closer to you, it seems, this heart desires to know the stories of your life above the sky

 

Why are you making that face? Here I am. Flying over you with my winged-chariot.

 

The tides change and the strength of the waves are becoming different, do you perhaps cause them to stir and shake? – Would you call my curiosity greed?

 

I was with you as with the starry skies every night. Since when did you and I become this close? Can I move even more closer? You see,the heavenly footpath I’m tredging is distancing me further away from you.

 

 

In the darkness of the night, though you never see my stride or hear my cries, you shall have my wings so you too can fly. To be closer to you, it seems, this heart brightly desires the path below the sky

 

Why are you making that face? Here I am. Flying over you with my winged-chariot.

 

For a Goddess to act out of foolishness over a mortal who’ve chosen to have an everlasting sleep—

 

It seems you are more than special as I can’t flip this virtuous heart around.

 

I hover over you, hover over your ears to whisper you my name, Selene. But just like the wind words won’t reach, love can only pass us by.

 

What Special is there for you and me?

 

 

In the darkness of the night, though you never see my stride or hear my cries, you shall have my wings so you too can fly. To be closer to you, it seems, this heart’s full of fluttering desires how to just fall down from the sky

 

Why are you making that face? Here I am. Flying over you with my winged-chariot.

 

Hovering over you, whispering to you til I can be with you.

 

 

 

Reply# 1 At the end of your day

The day has been long

You’ve been too exhausted by now

Welcome home

You’ve worked hard

 

Come to my bed, have some rest

Wallow in the warmth of my palm as I go through each of your tensed muscle

Get yourself a tender hug

Before you close the day

 

The world outside is different

You became the person the world expected you to be

But at home, we can be honest

And aim to put down our mask, one by one by one

 

I’m sure at the end of a tiring day

Your bed,  your pillow, your blanket will be freshly made by me

Lay down your worries and let go of being fantastic

For today, you are just you and I am just me

Let us be together

 

When I turn off the lamp, be sure not to think of the weather outside

You have lived a different world with a different frame of time

The day as the night, the night as the day

Let’s make no mistake

As we shrink deep into a loving embrace

Your breath will sync mine

To be in each other’s comforting smile

 

Like the scent of lavender and rose oil

That gather around this room

I want to be with you

At the end of your day, pained by worries and awkward mistakes

I, your Queen, am waiting for you

In this room filled with lavender and rose oil

We gather ourselves as we recharge our strength

 

Come to my bed, have some rest

Wallow in the warmth of my palm as I go through each of your tensed muscle

Get yourself a tender hug

Before you close the day

 

My love, your tears are precious, your laughters are gold

I’ll be sure to catch them, I’ll be sure to keep them

Cry all you want, laugh all you want

I’ll take your innocence, I’ll save them all

Till eternity, I’ll hold your shine as I do to my heart

That loves the you who shines so bright and weep like a child

Til we get used seeing each other like this

 

Just like this, at the end of a weary day,

 

My love, you are my prize,

You end the job well done

Come to my bed and rest for a little while.

 

 

 

 

 

a talk alone

flower9

 

 

What’s difficult is being honest with oneself
In the years to come, I hope to have an honest experience with myself when I would not worry about getting others hurt because of me.
Where does it all come from?
Perhaps I am a person who’s bad at enjoying her youth since I worry too much about making others feel left out or cry.
My life is busy looking after these things that others find menial.
Do my scars, bruises and memories reflect on these too?
I guess you could say that.
Things that make me sad and out of sorts are the same things that make me sharp and excited. Would it make me happy, too?
Well, if you put it that way. Yes.
When people say “You’re a lot better than me. Because you are good at this or that then, for sure you can____.’ I know it’s easy for you.”
These words can sometimes be filled or can merely be gradient to me. I am happy because I can feel that sense of good affirmation about myself from the point of view of others. But it makes me sad at the same time knowing that these words come from another person’s inferiority and pain.
How hard it must be for them although I am only speaking for the minority and feeling from the people who matter to me.
For them to deliver such words, how hard it must be not to paint their anxiety and pain.
When they are like this, it’s hard to reach that point of honest concession as to how we both truly feel towards each other.
However, I really love to hear these words “ I’m on your side.” “I’m listening.” “Let’s try it again.” These words reflect home for me even though I know that other people feel differently about these things.
I feel like I’m being honest to myself and I can trust others sympathetic words towards me as well. Since humans are always allowed to grow, others tend to put these things to silence, forgetting and letting it go as in a waste water.
Don’t I sound even more worried?
There’s tightness I feel inside my breast, it’s heavy but I can’t seem to put it down.
Perhaps people can fathom its depth but as to what degree this cold, dark and heavy feeling is affecting me, no one knows.
I must have explained myself all too many times, hints would have been too obvious by now, but I guess, humans have it easy dismissing someone’s words of confession as something little or easy to understand. Thus, help doesn’t come at all. In the end, the effort to succeed fails and no longer can it be overridden.

Do I want it? Do I enjoy it? Not the least bit, my friend.

Letting go of one’s hand is not the most painful. Not believing in someone isn’t either. It’s when we are together for so long but you haven’t noticed the slightest signs I’ve given you. It’s when you shut me in before I could even spread my sheets. It’s when you’re comfortable even though I feel miserable, then, you ask ”What’s wrong?” but turns your back before I could even lift a finger.”

And I always wonder while looking at your back and fully spread shoulders, how far have we come to turn this way as humans?

Would you say I looked fine yesterday? Would you say I was happy writing words in my notebook that day? Would you say I thought we were o.k? Would you say I wish I knew this would happen? Would you say I can’t forgive myself for being so untrustworthy? Would you say you weren’t at fault because I never told you or showed you?

What’s the point of all the fuss now?

Even you have already given up on the thought of doing something. Let’s be honest.
But it’s never your fault. It’s all because of me. It’s because I should be when I should have been.

But what can be changed now?
If only I cease to exist.

Everything would still be normal. Memories would still come out clean and intact as if hearing a tiny voice from afar thinking it was just the wind blowing gently. Not someone or any one.

Death.

Is it so flashy? To die because it’s better that way? Is it so great?

I wish I could die to know the answer then come back unscathed to tell you of my amazing experience.
Would that be fair enough?

Rainy Blue

Old songs are now flowing in this town

The day when tears began to meet the soil

Like a leaking glass

All the painful fights fought alone 

Although hard and I almost gave up

I saw a sunny day against this rainy blue that was tearing my world apart

 

 

Flowers grow through my tears that seep 

Even though I wish through time my valuable life

be spared  from pain or despair

The night I walked alone suddenly rain fell

My wet body made of glass 

dangling loosely against the cold wind

 

Rainy blue kept floating in and I’m being chased

by my undying dreams of the you who made the skies rain

It’s a rainy blue,

It’s a rainy blue,

It’s a rainy blue, oh

 

If it weren’t for your love

and the only affection that surrounded me

My heart, the tears

where they fell and seeped

flowers bloom no way near those rainy blues

 

My troubled heart is walking through an abandoned telephone booth

I lifted my finger for your number

Then I only took a pause

Moments that pass, I hope to leave them all in the past

is what I wanted to say

But tonight is no way sunny

as the rain continued to bang my head

I couldn’t wake up from 

Oh, this rainy blue

 

My heart, the tears are welling up

Flowers don’t bloom anymore

all our beautiful memories are seeping through the soil

Even though I wish through time my valuable life

be spared  from pain or despair

The night I walked alone suddenly rain fell

My wet body made of glass 

dangling loosely against the cold wind

Rainy blue keep floating in and I’m being chased

by my undying dreams of the you who made the skies rain

It’s a rainy blue,

It’s a rainy blue,

It’s a rainy blue, oh It’s a rainy blue of the you who made the skies rain…

 

 

 

 

 

How can our hearts be broken even though no one has left us?

The vase is broken and the water’s been spilled

The day is slowly disappearing like a fading dot

Tomorrow doesn’t seem to run fast

I hear the sound of the clock no more

schedules are postponed

plans have been moved; people don’t seem to exist

The pain doesn’t subside

Bills are piling up and emotions are still in awry

The vein of sorrow won’t stop grief and despair from breaking happy hormones

swimming in a tub of unconfrontable pain, I’m into this as a fool who can’t stop her heart from splattering 

‘Sorry’ won’t even fit anywhere I place it

Acknowledging ones pain doesn’t even count and in no way near a medicament

Looking at changes where change doesn’t happen

I’m being pushed to the side.

Migraines won’t even flee 

Ears that keep ringing while the stomach’s been unjustly upset 

If pain is an object, I wish to scratch it, peel it, throw it away and kill it—

But the more and more and more I plead for it to go away

I keep getting the same hopelessness

Being cornered and body slammed, would it stop?

When all I want is to grab your hand.

Handrailings aren’t even available for support 

I’m counting the times when I feel my body is not my body

spending shorter days and longer nights

rolling over the ocean, changing sunsets and missing out my heart so much.

Like this,

How can our hearts be broken even though no one has left us?

 

 

Evening Primrose

 

Image result for evening primrose at night

 

The streets opened at night 

diffused notable colors wrapped the slightly cold evening

walking alone turned everything into sepia

memories of the past that no longer tied me

My heart ached for you

My heart ached for the inevitable

My heart ached for the scent that was breaking apart the strongholds of my hands

My heart ached so much that I only saw sepia

The window that I normally didn’t open 

I opened it tonight without thinking

I asked if I were sad but words won’t come out now that the alley outside reminds me of a past memory

Memories I’ll soon forget because I lost you.

What is wrong?

Crying like someone who just lost her mind

Can we stop now?

Why can’t you think about happy thoughts?

Is it so hard to remember just happy memories?

When I bare myself 

When the night looks at me openly

I wonder why I can’t remember memories of happiness

When you are happy it’s easier to feel lonely

When you are down it’s hard to have any other light feelings

Like water, it wraps around you without leaving any room for others

Why is that?

When I have just learned that physical sensations don’t mean anything unless you build a story around it

Here I thought I could take full responsibility for everything

But I’m doing it all wrong, I’ve been told.

Doctor, it must be easy to be like you when you put it that way.

Looking at your calm expression as you write the prescriptions

I guess increasing the dosage makes it all better?

I guess I am just a patient, indeed.

When what you write determines the next path I’ll take

Evening primrose in this blue night

To accompany me in this solitude

The flower that only blooms in the dark 

Too bad they won’t have to see how beautiful you are when you put out your face out there

When your petals stretched out like arms that love the world even though you are all alone at night

Because they don’t know, your memories are erased by morning.

Because they don’t know.

When you hide your face behind the cold wind 

Dancing alone while the rest are dreaming straight till morning

You are there but none of them has followed you sway

traces of your tears when the mist poured you her blessings

Will all be dried up by morning

No one will see you close up

No one will see you bloom openly

Yet you love the world so passionately that while scattering your scent at night 

that while your petals brightly shine

Willingly you offer yourself

Even though the landscape don’t recognize you

Even though the morning won’t remember your scent or the tears that your petals cried.

 

 

Loneliness

Superstar

Star

Popular

I am.

Not a popular one but a star.

To whom?

“It depends.” As ambiguous as that.

Whether there are people or pets waiting for me somewhere or not is rather insignificant.

Because loneliness kicks in and blurs the surroundings.

The blurring doesn’t even mean blindness.

Quite the contrary, to me, it means clarity.

The clearness of the separation within and among the people around you, the loss of passionate connection and the feeling of sour boredom become absolute.

And yet that’s far from being lonely.

“Loneliness.”

I wonder what this is to others. Even more so to myself since people aren’t curious about my ‘’loneliness.’’

who cares.

What a strange feeling.

Just how weird people are…

I, too, am weird having these strange feelings.

It’s heavy

It’s engulfing

It’s nostalgic

It’s tragic

It’s weary

It’s sad

It’s tasteless

It’s pathetic

It’s sympathetic

It’s drastic

It’s empathetic

It’s painful

It’s endless

Always the worst kind.

A pin-like pain somewhere in my body that grows, weighs and metastasized but in a stealth mode.

a growing body with growing pains.

It is what it is. “Loneliness.” Just as it is lovely. It’s a crucifixion.

It’s a succession of all these words and emotions within words, words summoning deep intrusive feelings that run with borders. And sometimes, wild like a melting iron.

But the end does not really change the beginning nor does it stop the end.

Of course, there are also moments of happiness around it.

Perhaps, it’s missing some key points in a questionnaire or,

a riddle that takes long hours to guess

a friend who never notices

a family away for good even when they are right under your nose.

Yet, there still remains the question “What does it mean?”

With eyes gazing somewhere else.

And smiles kept to oneself.

Sighs that are plowed from deep within.

And bodies dread just like the beginning.

Jet black feelings of wanting to be that star that lives in your eyes and the air that spurts out of your divine lips even though, they spread like ammonia. Even though they burn like briquette. Even though they delight like a fragrant poison.

“Loneliness.”

I am neither too close nor too far from it.

Neither warm or cold from the gushing sound it makes behind my earlobes when dawn starts to tear me apart as I get off from work and right before I lay in my bed.

Now, it’s getting more comfortable. The unfamiliar becomes natural. How there’s no way to know what lies beyond as we only see what’s suitable.

For a moment, I was taken aback by such loneliness that would now require a cool presence. From the formless image to the now awkward being that is gradually taking form carrying the memories that were once locked away inside the core of an unwilted flower.

Presence.

The likes of a new day that peels off my unwanted skin after soaking wet from the moonlight’s overspilt charms.

a certain kind of presence with a certain kind of romance. 

Someone who’d be taller than his neck but shorter than the back of his palm. Someone gentler, someone who never lacks sincerity. Someone who is just like the Spring that readily sweeps off Winter to run a few tricks and make flowers blossom. Someone shrewd. Someone who looks beyond the window but sees through the little gestures and the actions that may resort to hatred when left unseen. Someone who does not spread words for free breakfast or for a tasty appetizer. Someone who doesn’t close tightly like a  rare music box. Someone who opens up stories about his painful childhood. Someone too authentic to be ignored. 

‘Damn romantic.’ 

The world is crazy. But at least he owns a heart that can recognize a ballad.

Perhaps such a formless being will acknowledge the pain that cuts walls… perhaps, this loneliness wouldn’t fall into deaf ears.

Perhaps, he can notice my struggles first as if a brilliant star in a dark-filled realm. Perhaps, he can watch me closely to notice the red signs that were left undelivered by the hands, eyes, and lips.

A star with her comfortable loneliness can be quite noticeable through her awkward gait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The spirit who stole from You

See how people made you their idol?
See how they have prepared for your shine?
See how they fantasized for your smile?
How the world move as you move and shake their ground?
See what an idol you have become.

I think I quite understood your guilt.
How as an idol you’d painfully cringe over every loose voices
How you have chosen to leave and not to live.
How that creature of darkness made you his marionette
To your death you never parted.

Your breath is in my breath
Your sigh is in my sigh
Your soul without a soul
Your god, you made him your Idol.

Your guilt shown in your shadow
As you walk around searching for lost tears
You wandered but missed out on the evil that stalked your feet
So everywhere you look you see your shine
The same shine that disillusioned the soul

That God has birthed in your body.

See how you saved yourself?
See how you freed yourself?
See how you left yourself?
How you have betrayed the spirit when you unchained yourself?

That was your guilt.

Now, you’ll continue walking the beaches of illusions, tirelessly.
Like a curse in the afterlife.
The mirror has been broken, you’ll see for yourself the truth
But never with the Spirit who touched your soul nor the Saints on Earth
But that to the One who crawled under your feet.

The One you could never defeat.

The Spirit of Idolatry,

The Demon of Depression.

Reflection: Growing flowers on a huge wall

do jong hwan

 

Yes. Whenever I face a difficult wall, it becomes too stifling for me. I would turn my back and just give up on even trying to cross it. Let alone overcome it. Because I fear of trying and then making a mistake. Because I fear that I see nothing but mistakes after even trying so hard to overcome such a wall. And because I fear there’s nothing waiting for me on the other side of the wall. It would have been a huge shock all my life. All these have already been decided in my mind. And my heart automatically accepts it like usual.

I guess even cowards have their reasons too. Be it an excuse or just a simple ‘I don’t know because I don’t want to know.’ What I mean is, be it stupidity, stubbornness or ignorance for as long as it serves me well at the moment, that would have been fine. I would just accept this as a better excuse. And I can glide through my life. Easily.

On the other hand, while going on an easy but uninteresting life I feel that I have missed out on the important things.  And because it took me so many years to realize this, it seems already too late to change or do something about it. 

 

If I really wanted to see a better future for me, I would have just tried to see my dreams to the end. How sad that even a dream, I don’t have one. 

 

So like a rebellious child, I kept whining and sulking silently about my life. Because then, I can just pretend that everything is fine. I can just go on without even looking back is how I torment myself.

 

Then, I can soak myself in regret for a hundred million times as if I mourn the times wasted in the past. Isn’t this what we do when someone dies? We mourn until we feel better. I feel something died inside of me and mourning feels like an eternity.

 

If I don’t do this I feel that I couldn’t hold my ground. I would just lose all my control and self-sabotage.

 

I’m not sure what I was waiting for and what will come out after waiting. Even this still is a blur to my eyesight.

 

I guess tearing up my eyes is the simplest way to let this all out. 

 

Not making a decision and making a decision both put me on a standstill. And I’ve been going through all this as in a hamster wheel.

 

That is why I feel that I live but at the same time, I feel I’m not living it at all. It’s crippling.

 

But this poem that was written by Do-Jong Hwan entitled “Flowers that bloom when shaken” reminded me to raise my chin up again because there aren’t any beautiful flowers that bloom without being shaken. This poem is keeping quite a good company to my sad and helpless self.

 

I’m not sure what season that I, like a flower, will bloom. Not that it matters much. But at least now I have something else to think about and something else to do.

 

 

I want to do whatever I can. And if doing whatever I can mean seeing things to the end, I’ll do it.

I want to know how this would turn out. I wouldn’t even be asking a lot as much as gaining more self-confidence in the end. So until my stem gets straightened out, I’ll keep trying. Now, I don’t just even think about crossing or breaking this huge wall, in fact, I want to grow beautiful flowers on it, too. ❤

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reflection: Wildflower

Hi. How was your long vacation?

Well…lately I’ve been doing quite a lot of reflecting.

And it seems I was becoming quite adamant about it while doing my duties at home.

As a mother and as a teacher, I don’t see the difference between the two. At home, I discipline my children and I give an excuse that it’s all for them. That someday this will make them a better person who would contribute well to the betterment of the society.

At school, I discipline my students and give the same reasons why I had to do what I had to do.

This love and hate, hot and cold emotions are weighing too much inside me. And I was going on about it over and over and over again believing that this is the way for them to survive the harsh world. I guess I never really tried to differentiate my children and my students. I only look, only judge then, hope for the better.

 

 

What a load of crap I’ve been harboring myself. I think, if there was anything I mastered while doing this, it was feigning ignorance and indifference and nothing else.

 

Over the years, I feel terrible about myself. I realize how indifferent I have become to the people I care about. Because of this, motherhood and teaching become more of a burden rather than a fulfilling role.

I have strayed far and deep. It’s sickening!

 

I always ask myself if there was a poem I’d like what would it be and why?

 

I couldn’t think of one.

 

That was how pathetic and inferior I was. Then out of a habit, I would turn up and tell myself off, being a teacher doesn’t make me know all the answers. So not having one as a favorite or as a mantra doesn’t make me much less of a person.

 

Yes, I know. I’ve been feeding my cold, indifferent and arrogant self with loads of crap. So who am I to say that I am qualified and competent to take these roles both as a mother and as a teacher when I keep getting them all confused.

 

That’s why my children and my students can look at me with cold eyes with a forced smile. “What a hateful mother and a teacher, you are.” is probably what’s been going on inside their hearts and mind. As for me, I feel that there’s absolutely nothing I can do to change this.

And I keep sinking deeper and deeper into the mud. And I call myself a mother and a teacher in front of them.

How pathetic, hopeless and self-serving this space I created for myself!

 

What is the right way? What is the truth? And, what is the answer?

 

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

 

Please tell me, I want to know.

 

I’ve been looking but not seeing. I’ve been feeling but not understanding. I’ve been going through it but as a bystander. Running towards a cliff then falling over and over again still without finding anything.

 

It’s rather exhausting.

 

 

“I want to change it. I want to do something about it.” is what I hope to do.

 

So, this ignorant, self-absorbed and hopeless person that I am want to acknowledge the fact that I am lacking in so many ways. With this, I’ll work hard to be forgiven and to reassess myself as a competent and qualified candidate for these special roles.

 

 

I read a poem today by Na Tae Joo entitled “Wildflower.”

 

poem wildflower

 

So, I’ll leave myself with this poem I’m quite fascinated about.

 

I still don’t know the way, the truth, and the answer. After all, exams aren’t made for those who already know but for those who don’t.

 

Indeed, It’s a week-long vacation! 🙂 ❤

 

 

 

 

 

We all cry differently

Just as the cicadas buzz…the cats meow and the snakes hiss…the human’s cry

out of anger

pain,

frustration,

sadness,

failure,

 happiness and,

trouble.

 

We all express ourselves differently. When we see tears, we perceive it differently.

 

Humans and everything human—is quite astonishing.

 

When relationships are broken and ties are severed, loved ones died and everything is all over the news, 

 

Sometimes, there is too much noise pollution in human lives that we wish we could change or silence it forever.

 

We all cry differently because different aren’t we?

 

But how we hear the noise and how we listen to each other’s cry are what make us humans.

 

When a mother cries because her son assaulted someone else’s sons and daughters…

When the son blames his father’s alcohol addiction…

When the daughter takes all the consequences and keeps silent…

When people are just people…

 

Isn’t this the world?

 

 

Someone died. All three people cried.

 

 

They cried in their own way and all the world did was let go.

 

 

I guess everything continues to happen even before one makes the decision?

Time doesn’t wait and its value reduces or increases depending on how one perceives it. Either we erase the concept of time in our memories or we wait until we are ruled out of this world.

 

still, we are shown a series of open roads leading to something or somewhere…

 

So what if a decision was made?

another path opens, a new set of people appear, the journey continues, isn’t this what one normally hears?

 

I wonder if humans have really progressed or only delayed the result?

 

Just as the cicada’s buzz…the cat’s meow and the snake’s hiss… the human’s cry.

 

We have thoughts about how to live a life just as cockroaches have a way to survive.

 

Cockroaches that don’t make noise when scavenging filths everywhere

They run and hide

They grow big and come out flying at times

Pests they are and always will be

 

and yet,

 

My eyes grow in amazement how no matter the conditions, they do what they do. They live how they live. Yes, cockroaches they really are.

 

and if a cockroach gets separated, becomes a stranger and died, they wouldn’t even have to bother making a fuss.

 

They live a silent life, going through the motions even though they are scarred for life.

 

Not that humans are cockroaches.

 

When families get separated and become strangers to one another and die that’s when we become alike.

 

Silently we go on our lives even though we are scarred for life.

 

 

We all cry differently,                                                                                                                      but do we know otherwise?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extreme Anxiety

Why does my heart feel so much?

Isn’t having a reaction to small things the least of this heart’s concern?

But then why does my heart react and respond quickly, It’s crazy.

My eyes tear like waterfalls suddenly

Is it because I’m alive?

What gift do I have again this time?

Please, someone, wipe me I’m wet with tears, it seems, the world is collapsing and nobody’s worried but me.

Why does my heart feel so much, I feel I’m a stranger to my own body. It doesn’t respond to my call, I’m not sure I understand what’s going on.

 

Am I the only one?

I think now is the time I complain, right?

When I wake up at dawn and start to get emotional about something far, something unknown, just something—

Different kinds of energies I’m absorbing, it’s crazy, I think I’m going to get crazy.

 

What is going on? Please, someone, tell me what to do?

Is this normal?

I feel that the world wants to cry but can’t, so I’m crying on its behalf!

 

Do I even make any sense here?

 

Hello, it’s 6:45 in the morning and I have just finished crying, right now I feel someone died but I don’t know who, what or why?

I start to feel sorry, something is gripping my heart It’s hard to breathe through my nose and mouth 

 

Incredible, isn’t it?

 

To feel so strongly about something that you deliberately choke from your own saliva?

 

I’ve been going through all this lately, I’m starting to recognize a pattern

Though the degree of pain or the intensity of this certain sense of loss I feel differently, I think something so strong comes rushing to me and I start taking them in like water, I’m surprised myself.

I look around and everything is normal

nothing extra or excessive is going on

except me and this sudden surge of energy,

it catches my emotions deeply and I start to get a runaround

 

am I having any symptoms of a disease or a disorder?

 

Oh please, anything except that.

 

 

 

 

I have a Black Dog

Love and hate seem to play tug of war inside me

Happy 2 hours ago then, feel sad the rest of the day

my emotions are really playing tricks with me

I can’t even remember having that best fraction of a good memory

staying at home for one week on a holiday while the rest of my circle talk about movement; being somewhere with nature

doing something; making memories.

But who’s responsible for me?

Not anyone but me.

Myself yet again—only me.

To be honest, It’s funny and I’m surprised myself

How even having this Black Dog  growing up

and,

still living with him until now, nothing much has changed I’m sure.

I lasted for this very long not having been bitten by my own Black Dog only he seemed unmoved.

I get quite comfortable by His companionship and

People who never take the time to know me blame it to my Personality

I was told, ‘Don’t mix it up with your personal issues.’ 

‘My goodness! Why do you keep making the wrong decisions.’

‘You should think! You should learn to adapt!’

 

Foolish.

 

Have you any idea how it is for me on a daily basis?

 

Foolish.

 

Because of your words, my brain now feeds me with “I’m not doing my best.

That I wasn’t working hard.’

that ‘I’m not enough.’

 

and My heart just couldn’t wrap around these thoughts. And my Black Dog grows even bigger in reflection.

 

Not long ago, I was prepared to fight. I showed no mercy because I so wanted to be in that better place.

Far away from this Black Dog. Away from me. Away from you.

 

Running away feels like a good idea-

You could say that’s how I lasted til now.

 

I contemplated and realized that there was no going away with my Black Dog.

 

I always want to fight it but my Black Dog only does two things: to grow in size and to follow me around.

 

How do you expect to fight something as unresponsive and as constant as this?

 

I certainly don’t know. and I’m always left losing my energy; always left losing my life force at the end of the day.

 

So far, this world has offered me nothing grand to replenish my energy.

Perhaps, it has a lot in it that nothing interests me like it’s supposed to.

 

That’s why my Black Dog stays, lingers, lives.

 

I’m already exhausted fighting while improperly breathing. It’s hard. 

 

I hate myself.

 

I pondered more. 

 

Should I continue doing this? Tomorrow never seems to bring any changes. It didn’t make me healthier, didn’t make me much stronger.

 

Should I live on? 

 

What should I do? I’m on my own. 

 

Those gentle voices around me make me want to look at the ground often and the people I love, I love seeing them happy and bright. I love seeing them healthy and proud.

 

Because I have tried it so far but couldn’t bring myself to this kind of a better place

 

as I wish for everyone and everything else to be better around me, I’m gradually being eaten by my Black Dog who’s now making His aggressive moves inside me.

 

I can’t do much about it now. My exhaustion weighs heavier than me, I can’t move.

 

It will only be a matter of time before my Black Dog can completely devour me…

 

I don’t know for how long I’d last this time. 

 

But perhaps it would be ok if anyone notices. I don’t care who they are and what they might be…

 

 

Please just hurry and see me. 

 

 

 

 

Requiem

My heart is in pain

I’m in pain

but if you are happy, if you can smile again

I will be ok.

The clouds are darker now than yesterday

it will rain more, storm more because of your passing

erasing your scent, washing your memories that are now perhaps flooding that better place you’ve been seeing

While on Earth, my tears will shed my worst longing

Perhaps, you think I’m greedy

and my whining has only delayed your departure

but what can the poor me do? My loneliness that’s about to explode—

‘Goodbye My love’ ‘You’ve worked hard.’ are wishes that won’t probably come out of my mouth since you have long become my heart

You are so unfair. Expecting me to send you off still with the heart of a good friend.

Putting me through all this, how could you be so optimistic?

If being good means without you; Oh I can’t hear you

Oh I can’t touch you

I can’t find you—

But if you are happy. If you can smile again then,

won’t I be ok?

The rain has started gently,

                                                falling in a sad rhythm,

                                                                                          but with a crushing sound in my heart

as if it wants to sympathize with me now.

Staring directly outside like I’m staring at you trying to make pieces of you again

and the Fool. Fool. Fool in me swirls with the idea of following you any minute now…

You are a light that grows more translucent the farther one looks

behind the moist glass mirror in the early morning

I can see a tiny flash of light that doesn’t disappear no matter how painful it gets

the unsteady image between us now becomes misty in regret

when obscures from the view. 

However one looks at it is something I’m unable to grasp despite knowing the pain of being torn apart; of dying now that the palm of my hands is drenched in tears.

my awful mistakes, these imploring feelings will be judged once again.

They are being soothed and spread by the rain growing lighter with my tears.

Dear humble light before me,

bearing the soft touch of our beautiful memories that weaken me

so that I wouldn’t reflect on our requiem, please,

imprison me in eternity.

pour me that shrewd smile with transparent eyes

They are being soothed and spread by the rain growing lighter with my tears.

I can see a tiny flash of light that doesn’t disappear no matter how painful it gets.

as time passes,

as times passes,

the tiny light will give in with memories of only being tiny the farther one looks.

They are being scattered by the sorrows, getting thinner because of the tears of pain.

 

Time moves.

Time forgets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In loving memory of You

What is so precious about this life?

When everyone I know who loves and believes in it finally decided to end it?

Is it that they are brave to choose a different kind of way to live this life?

Is it that I am jealous how whether they are right or wrong, they have made a decision for themselves unlike the coward in me?

Would you say that they were enlightened or would you say like the rest of the world would that they were fools?

 

Someone so precious, so full of life yet having the eyes of a wounded puppy asking for help but is constantly being abandoned?

Where are those friends, those people how could not one of them saved him?

Didn’t they hear it in his laughter? Couldn’t they have known it in the melody of his music?

How he begged like a street child while singing to the world the music that he created—

Did he need a more dramatic production to make his suffering known?

 

I’m sorry. It would have been ok had I not been a useless pawn of fate.

What point is there of it all now? What is there to be thankful for?

When your cruel smile and mesmerized eyes diffused the colors of the sky, he told him he was just lonely.

Lonely, I am lonely is what he’s been telling himself oh, how he have missed that memory when his mom took his hand and made him lunch in grade school…

 

Now at 28 after everything, what one would never understand happened.

His long and deep breath, do they mean anything to you now?

 

Should he just lived on? Or would you just say I’m sorry?

I beg of you oh, what could be done?

I worry about you

Don’t say things like there aren’t that many people who want to get to know the real you. Just as there are those who don’t, there are also those who do and always will do.

Just wait for the exceptional work of fate coz you haven’t met them yet, wait until we cross paths

It wouldn’t be that very long.

 

What are you so anxious about?

Them only wanting to destroy you, you might as well give them the false credit

like a child you hide in your crib, crying and just crying perhaps,

hoping that someone will notice

To reach their arms and hold you

If only we could grasp everything in our hands except that glorious memory

would matters be any different had you chosen to express what taught your heart to cry the worst of pain?

 

I couldn’t as of the moment be any much of a help

as you can see you and I seem to be brought by the same world but held differently in time and space

You talk ahead of yourself, see the view beyond others

is that why you feel so lonely; so awfully miserable?

Try so hard to keep it in to know what happiness or if it would be enough

 

Look at you always talking sad words disguised as fun and a pint of logic

but look at what you’ve done to yourself

how you have allowed such suffering to torment you

Always telling me to leave you you’re fine

See what you’ve done, what a pity

You abandoned me; abandoned me I’m speechless

 

How else do you expect me to live this world full of life and smiles

All the lies, all the pain you threw them all over me at once

What am I supposed to do with these tears?

I pray to the stars to fall at once and exchange your tears with those tiny lights

I can only touch and taste bitter memories of you

 

Why bring this to yourself, I want to resent you; resent you ending it all

leaving me not a word of a faint goodbye

How cruel are your songs they kill me every time I hear the notes rise and fall

with nothing to do despite all the means I could have done, oh, if they were your tiny screams

Oh, what could be done?

 

Don’t you see this world doesn’t necessarily have to love you or accept you,

wouldn’t it be enough to have few but feels so much?

Thoughts about dying, loneliness, and judgment

What would I have done instead or how if there was any way I could save you

tell me please tell me

 

I want to beg you like this forgetting all that we have done

all the happiness now abandoned, forgotten by your

cruel acts of suicide

 

Oh what could be done; what could I have done, please

it’s saddening my heart spins like crazy looking out for answers

but none has appeared except those glorious days full of regrets and sorrows…

 

 

 

Memories of a dried flower

The sun has finally bid his farewell

To a whole rough day

Flowers that have shone bright out

Swaying loosely by the wind’s gentle blows

Now have wilted back to their

Natural form

Come now smile for me, my days well-spent

The dew had traversed my petals bearing

The memories of a strong scent

Like a violin it cries without the music

One day such as today won’t come again

Imprisoning; poisoning my heart with beautiful dye

When sorrows now color my petals brown

Calling me back to the dust

Shall I let my nervous time pass?

Time passes and I’m still wrapped by the translucent image of a peaceful day in this world

And I cry in pain like a violin left with its song

Quietly, beside my awkward mistakes at night

Where my flowers have dried; weary of overexertion

Can anyone notice?

Can anyone see?

How a day exhausted the life of a beautiful flower

Out shining with the morning dew swaying loosely to those

Strangers, growing little

Bearing only the memories of a day filled

With my regret from the sorrows now in sync as in the

fading of a dear sunlight.

I welcome the end of a day as I always open it earlier than others

My time is calling; the wind is blowing

And my strength now sapless by the colors of my sorrow.

Untitled

song lyrics:

Verse 1

You don’t want to get hurt

It’s what you said after behaving differently last night

I know

It seems staying in love is too much of a burden when

you don’t have love yourself

You are afraid

even in your dreams, you don’t want anyone to know

how miserable your heart has been

Chorus:

I’m sorry please stop crying

I’ll stay with all your harsh words until

you see that you can love me even after so many prayerful moments

of unheard screams

That the gentle wind may touch your heart 

you’ll be surprised how forgetting won’t

even be necessary

Come, my love, let’s love

Verse 2

Don’t live in a dream, please

Oh what do you know about me anyway

Words don’t flow easily to me, not as 

water or as wine

Don’t need to stick it out with me

As you move along in this romance

you’ll feel pain even more because

love just

hasn’t opened its doors for me, not yet

Chorus:

I’m sorry please stop crying

I’ll stay with all your harsh words until

you see that you can love me even after so many prayerful moments

of unheard screams

That the gentle wind may touch your heart 

you’ll be surprised how forgetting won’t

even be necessary

Come, my love, let’s love

Bridge

You are a fool 

Things don’t go as planned always

Giving up on you because I give up on myself

don’t make sense

To me, I always know

Missing you crazily until my view gets dark

What should I do but confess and

hope I get this chance 

I’ll reach you, you’ll see what this stupid fool can do

Chorus:

I’m sorry please stop crying

I’ll stay with all your harsh words until

you see that you can love me even after so many prayerful moments

of unheard screams

That the gentle wind may touch your heart 

you’ll be surprised how forgetting won’t

even be necessary

Come, my love, let’s love

Post Chorus

Special moments keep passing by

precious memories are screaming high

Let me do what I do best

Come to me, burn that fire with me

Now come we’ll take our chance 

our lives are waiting ahead of us

stop no more…cry no more…

I love you just tastes better 

we can give into this moment

One more time

Hi, how long has it been?

I feel like writing to you again, this rather sorrowful and full of longing letters.

I may write simply and my words seem flying here and there.

But one more time, I want to remember you.

The you, who left that wonderful song in my memory.

When “I love you” is playing in my lips again like a ballad

and your warm memories that keep blowing to the back of my neck

whispering to the tiny hole that held my heart tightly like rusted shackles.

One more time, can I remember that person in you I adore the most?

I woke up suddenly and this uneasiness made me afraid, so foolishly, as if I woke up from a nightmare I wasn’t sure was mine.

How are you? When questions like this rush to me unknowingly in the midst of my space from an unknown territory, I feel so awkwardly impossible.

It isn’t cool anymore. I don’t feel awesome about this.

I wonder if one more time, you have thoughts of me too or have you totally forgotten the girl who was once clinging on to you not knowing what to do or why

While I couldn’t know my feelings then I kept making difficult mistakes; seeking trouble all the time when I meant to do well in everything.

I talked about this and that like flying saucers and serpents all together served to me at night when I remember how my heart raced towards you, I felt both grateful and miserable.

I seem to know what to do when my heart beats fast and I start to have these little goals, bouncing back from sadness and happiness and being crazy and oh, that tiny hope spread in my heart.

One more time, I feel good to peak through your memories like God working through his beloved Earth.

I miss you and the veins in my heart start to swell as if they remember the one person giving so much pressure in them.

I’m sorry, please I wish for falling rain to be falling stars tonight as I imagine you once again in my small mind and wondering heart.

“Is there something bothering you now? Let me help you.” I want to say but somehow this heart that cries with the same image imprisoned inside of it for so long I thought I had far gotten rid of…

I plead please..please..please…one more time, look my way …but now I am the one writing fantasies again because I want to return to your side full of warmth and smile.

Today, I believe I can recognize the years that had passed and the mountains I climbed to reach this far.

I wouldn’t say I am perfectly well but compared to the time I was lost, I think I’m quite in a better place now. I’m saying this because I can stand with my emotions once again and I can think of myself as someone who breathed so much air in the past that it no longer obstructs my way of thinking.

Before I thought of myself as someone not outstanding, I didn’t like to stand out or talked about myself as a public resource, it scared my fickle heart so, instead of focusing on what matters and speaking with value, It appeared that I continued to unleash useless words and frivolous actions.

I used to think that I wasn’t good at math and true to this day, I never once felt that I was good at it. It was something I avoided in the past. For me, although life feels like solving a problem and living it at the same time, I never once believed that I’d come up with one solution, therefore, I kept making mistakes and get ridiculed by them. While this should be the truth, that this should make me feel more alive, I willfully questioned it and look for answers elsewhere.

The ‘me’ who asks a lot of questions and the ‘me’ who just wants to surrender to all of it and flow through it, it pains a lot. Looking in the mirror seeing how I have so forgotten ‘love’ in the course of finding me in it.

One more time, the roots that keep growing beneath me amassing space secretly. At this rate, I should have grown a tree. A tree indeed but without leaves. having branches arching and extending everywhere as if reaching for something I feel I should have known by now…then, realizing that I have filled another space unfilled once again.

 

Want to know what I feel?

I feel like an ancient tree growing peacefully. The kind of peace that makes me want to laze around and not do anything. I feel like I’m cutting branches one by one like clipping my fingernails one by one while trying to supply the emptiness after every cut.

such a foolish act for crying out loud. I know.

I am not a genius, certainly not a prodigy but today I realize that even geniuses have genius problems to mind as well.

As for me, determination, patience, and hard work seem to sit well with me. I can’t give up yet. I’m on this journey and the results are yet to come. In the future that’s too far ahead, I won’t even promise that I’ll live a perfect life. But at least, even I, want to be interesting; to live this life like a heartbeat.

 

In the end, it will only make sense when it makes sense.

 

So one more time, I will never regret that time in the past. My words here reaffirm that.

 

 

A truth, one that can’t be found through imagination alone. What’s that like?

A fateful encounter, one that brings great changes. What’s that like? 

I think, a door to a bright new world is opening a little at a time. 

true tears

countless rose petals journeying swiftly under the moonlight sky

like insects, they hurled quickly through the air

to where the moon sets her eyes

never knowing what the end would be or the future to be

they flee to the silver light with their hopes and their dreams

flickering light opening the sea

words become dismal promise brought by the thrill of uncertainty

marching towards the uninhabited

reaching forward ceaselessly

only to make known what true tears will be.

sparkling eyes, flapping wings

a beatless dance to the moon colored witch

until they die, falling back to the mouth of moving darkness

bringing forth the endless swim of one’s dying feelings

inspired, compelled by one’s final tears.

sixth sense

I had a disturbing dream

fear gurgled out of its cradle

unstable fragment of a time

I never knew existed

until it appeared luminously

tonight

There was a woman

Her name I didn’t know 

she spoke to me about how I lost to two other women

I saw him too.

drowning in sin with lust to those women

my heart raced as if something was amiss

the knowledge was revealed to me-

What was I supposed to do?

 

 

5 kilometers per second

That day the greatest missile was launched. It was so massive and it only left us gawking at the smoke crowding its path. You and I stood there, together , along the fields of sugar cane as we tried to reach the last image of it before it disappeared on us to outer space. 

I think I understood then why you were so different from other people and at the same time, I knew, without a doubt that you were definitely not looking at me. 

And I cried behind your back as we continued our way home. It was because you were so nice to me that I couldn’t catch my tears from escaping.

It was rather sad to be feeling so lonely on a day when it was bright and sunny.

.

.

.

Mr. Life

Mr. Life’s a fool

He makes you feel you’re a lost soul

in this universe

that knows not you nor I

but somehow, we still survive

and forge ahead

relationships and people

who never go out of style

and yet still feel old all the time

and Time

we never learned from time

I ask certain people

and all they said were unedited excuses

with the same cover

perhaps, they’ve made a multi-million record

out of the ideas that left their heads and lived in their mouths

even if ideas came from different colors and eyes

still, they weren’t free to climb

Mr. Life and his mischievous plots

for us and them.

A river flows in you

 

blue blur bright close up

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In case you miss the fragments of your childhood

Don’t tell your mom.

Eat.

Eat beside your notebook.

Sit next to a piano for hours, or days

And create–

the river that flows within you

until you get drunk with words and die a natural death.

Maybe in springtime,

When the trees are plump

And the rabbits have played among the

Lavender fields with the squirrels,

You can run on the grass with much ease

Let your feet fulfill their promise

To the earth that held your

Tiny voice and knee-wounds

At 6 years old.

Allow this gentle river to sink your wounds;

And the scars reminiscent to the days

That came but long forgotten.

Tell your friends how you wished the leaves

To swirl onto a clay pot

That had most of your secrets in the afternoon hidden.

When the sky kissed your back farewell

and the river sang an ode

to a passer-by

that spoke to you all this time.

 

 

 

Tune me up, perhaps, the night star would glance back at me

To single out the hymn now imbued in this body

All colors may articulate what a painting would not want to display

When the music gathered the piece of me every day.

Heavy bricks may rain duly to this kaleidoscopic Poppies

And this mood could trickle down to its terminal censure

Owing to your hands painting the song

scribbling with regards to my temperamental hues.

You could get these hands to clap in unison

Seconds may pass but the tune would still want to be rough

Such a character isolating caress, it would allow

Brimming with desire blasting off calumny.

To that one man, His music is all.

I sent out letters cascading through outer space

While you gloated the stardom

And painted new planets, I wondered what my role was in this

Alluring universe. Through which I saw

Dimly lit parallel lines that never would elucidate—

We’d bypass each other’s brass rings

And will be left out gawking.

Will this remain a storybook of our indelicate suffering,

Or would this remain an ethereal world of my own?

 

 

 

where were you?

gray monkeys

Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.com

Where were you when the river murmured to me and the elf told a history?

Where were you when I hanged mostly for words, words that hanged you for someone else?

Where were you when the grass flipped to the other side to show me nicely how it was like to come back to life?

Where were you when the trees point at a distance towards a sky so distant but free?

Where were you when the irresistible grasp time and time again held the ropes of a peculiar heart?

Where were you when the light divided the iris of my eyes spending damnation from a swift serving hand of ignorance?

Where were you when the wall echoed to me the sound made by the self which created it?

Where were you among us and thorns?

Where were you when words convened to build a silent shelter for a hopeless invitation towards a mountain far above the clouds so much louder than the parade of constant goodbyes?

Where were you in this postmodern time you, godly man?

Where were you when God only knew what you would choose to chew to make me blue?

Where were you when the wild horses and the screaming voices wrote to me in my memory?

Where were you when the frog grew more of his limbs dragging behind you more of his noisy reproach?

Where were you among the sheets, white paper, and fallen bugs?

Where were you when the frightened ones fell over and over a thousand times?

Where were you headed towards when you said you would come back before dinner time?

Where were you when all the dogs went to heaven?

Where were you when the poem rolled back with the toothbrush, elastic band, and the power of observation?

Where were you when the rain whispered to meet me another sunny day?

Where were you when the light receded miles away feeling endless impressive shocks from a backseat?

Where were you when you had easy money and I had to call you out for your own protein pills?

Where were you partying when we parted over the phone?

Where were you when 90% of the adolescents were trying to be deep and the other 10% were just pouring all sweetened compliments?

Where were you when the night became simplified?

Where were you making a hole out of a dangerous soul?

 

 

search

nature person girl forest

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Search for the traces, search for evidence or for witnesses

Lest the yearning departs the chest

Search for an image in every photograph

Where all symbolic charms are faded in the background

Search it dearly, search it well

For if this bear any fruit

Let it be in tranquil seas afloat

Search it everywhere from books or magazines

That was left on the workspace

Perhaps the dust could tell if your face

Settled in his consciousness

And if time reveals the hour for which

your language bespoke

Let this be the sign for which the heart awaits

For its groom.

All the memories will once again

Cross the heart and crush the spirit in half

But my love, if all is not taken care of

What glory shall prepare you

For a journey anew

If the ships have been released from the ropes

Of its grip, and the anchor has been raised to sleep

What cloth shall you hoist to gather all the birds from afar?

Is it not your desire to meet the hopes of your heart?

Search well, search

For dreams mirror the dark side

Completely different to imagine

For this reality renders you to sit and outside

A good stare of the world where tears drift

And wound your spine.

blue funk#1

person sitting on rock on body of water

Photo by Keegan Houser on Pexels.com

 

Recently, I’ve been spending so much time watching the view from afar. From where I sat, everything looked right in place. Time moves slowly when I stare outside from a glass window. The weather hasn’t been good lately. I heard typhoons come and go in some parts of my country, and so I get the same sky almost every day. I looked outside, past the new buildings to the sea covered by the inseparable clouds. I think I have become obsessed with the clouds. It almost always blocks my view of the other side. But why am I so concerned of this other side? Have I become so discontent of my place that I want to escape from it? Perhaps, the other side can have that answer? I seem to have full of doubts. And I wonder if I have spent my time on unnecessary things. What has become of my vision? I guess it shows me the wrong distance. My eyes can see from my house to a neighbor’s greengrocer’s. And yet, I still wonder if I have stretched it enough or overstretched it already, what must I do? Everything in my sight becomes seemingly monochromatic… if one is the artist where should she look for this inspiration? In this story, where is that place? I guess I have gradually taken this dark character. I do not see anything at all. Beauty has fled, gone, enclosed somewhere I couldn’t open. I have become obsessed with the birds and the rock. Everything transforms into clouds, birds and the rock. Oh, I could not have been more creative if not frustrating. I have cut my hair the shortest. I feel I can do something bad in this body. I looked for something to break and I found my hair, and yet I asked if there were still some things I could tear or break. I do not like to stare the abyss I know it’s pulling me in, but this path has led me to it. I wonder just when did this void grow this big?

Birds

woman wearing black jacket standing near ocean with swan and birds

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

 

Thoughts about birds are fascinating

Though I can only count as many

This world is fascinating

Because it gives us birds

Birds like the Albatross, pigeons, canaries, and doves

How they live and find their mate

How they adapt and survive

They are fascinating as with the eyes of a child.

The Albatross of Galapagos Island…

Is that how I envision paradise?

The albatross isn’t it from the lyrics of a song by the Little River Band ‘Cool Change?’

Wow! Time for a cool change…cool change…cool change…

Sailing on a cool and bright clear water…staring at a full moon like a lover…

At the moment, I’d love to freshly smell this little world

Where words can only paint this picture beautifully

And music carries them to our ears

And they live to tell the tale

Of people who dream their greatest dreams.

But the albatross flies and swims in this beautifully huge ocean

And can remain flying in years…

The albatross has everything under his long and strong wings

If not happy for what the world gives it then, is it lonely?

Those birds that flock around the city

sitting on a wire

do they whisper, a dream they desire? Or are they like us—

trying to observe the world without a permanent address and live only for the time?

Little birds in my city sit on a wire like armies of birds they wait for the time

When jeepneys honk their loudest sound, the birds jump off the wire and  fly

I thought they’d leave and say goodbye

instead, they go back and sit one more time…again…and again…

until it rains heavy and the air feels cold without the sun in the sky

this repetition takes the melancholic view of my city

and the people of the city can’t seem to notice how the birds have whispered

over the roofs of their luxurious cars

And I wonder if only we use the sky with only the moon and the stars at night

and forget the rest that reside?

I wonder if birds stare at the same sky to throw a question for people, how so beautiful is the night without them, birds dancing under the moonlight?

 

 

 

 

 

aquatic plants background beautiful beauty

Photo by Fancycrave.com on Pexels.com

I’d like to be attuned to myself.

I’d like to feel more of my self.

I’d like to get accustomed to my own habits, my dreams, my pain, and my strength, just me and nothing else.

I’m a fire.

I burn with desire, it’s wild and extreme.

Being boastful is just one of the many things to describe me and yet even with people’s words, I try not to lean on them.

At least not anymore.

Because I am boastful I want to write about the self, myself, after all, I speak better when I talk about my own rather than others.

So, apology to this body where cells are now bathing with a cesspool of radical aspiration that harms its form.

Apology to the brain which now delivers the message of an inquiring self

Apology to my heart that keeps pumping out the pain and joy in words and has saturated the body with sentimentality or enough vitality

Apology to the tissues that keep spreading itself and creating a pain-proof shield to my wounded ego

I’d like to give myself a balm for my classic antics.

I’d like to be free from the scratches of those who thought of limiting their art

I’d like to believe that I’m free to practice what I believe to be true without the threat of being linguistically short, standard-driven and music-free… I prefer the softbound, not the hard one…

I’m waiting for the bus ride

Down to the yellow landscape

Where a garden blooms in vagrancy

Together with the shoes, I got for a poem

And my feet fueled by my heart’s song

People thought I’m in search of a priest or therapy—-

On my walk, a priest brightly bowed in excellence

Thus, my journey begins with greetings to the wonderful few

I have come to a slope

Where children run with their arms stretched

They are the children of the slope

The ones who inherit the future of gold

I run to the open field with gestures full of radiant smiles

But a rope is tied around my hands

and thought that the past has suffered too.

It’s whispering every hunting…

Breathe…breathe…breathe

Now we have reached the pond

Where calloused feet are washed

And the pond shows a being

Different and the same

Not a fiction of a flourishing tale—

Between what’s around me and within that pond

I can no longer say

Neither the truth or lie would tell

Perhaps that’s my faith in a dream

Manifested in this beautifully heralded place within.

I had this idea in mind.

It may be silly or bright

But I had this thought in sight

Water and oil don’t mix

but if you add in soy sauce or some fresh veggies then you have my country’s stir-fried dish.

It’s delicious and a staple food on our table.

I guess what I’m trying to say is…

There are things that mix instantly or not

but there are also alternatives or add-ons made available

for two different things to mix and taste even better

This is insanely a bad analogy, but hear what I have to say–

the self can be an enemy or a friend

it does not matter. It does not have to matter—

Everything would still be you.

Always derive from You.

I guess the world will just have to come to terms with that—

not the stir-fried dish but with the

practical fact. (?)

 

 

 

 

 

The thoughts that we have

adolescence adorable blur child

Photo by Matheus Bertelli on Pexels.com

 

What thoughts do I have of you tonight?

Weird dreams appeared to me wild and vain

Walking down the path to good health

I could not be much more self-aware

That under the Narra trees in summer

A sea of scent perfumes the air

And into the vortex a new aspire began

Profoundly spiraling a world that I didn’t see

And the flaws of a woman weren’t a diamond in his chest

That it may bore glitters of a sailing memory

So that you wouldn’t have to preach

Such a woman who bore her soul upon

The navy-blue rocks of her dreams.

What thoughts of me do you have tonight?

A well-furnished room for immaturity

Dangling chandeliers of jealousy

Lighting the room where putrid foals lay scattered on the floor

To the kitchen where boundless memories of a sick language

Engulfed. You could not

Even be more self-unconscious

How non-nourishing our lives have been

Stepping on sharp wet glasses and making

It a beautiful slumber.

Indeed. Beneath the pillows we let out a spell

That fairies of the future may wake us up one day

From this endless chant where no one knows

Even the cries of the ants on the mountain

Ridges hails the cry for help that echoes echoing

Down the ocean of fog and into this

Dominating self-realization

That our lives have consistently

Made a fall as we keep bouncing back to

The wooden plank we had set up for our own safety

Thus, it’s almost as if we fostered a dream

Where doves and butterflies we could

never see resting…and nesting…cocooning…

under the nurturing Narra tree.

What thoughts of a future do we have for one another?

Perhaps, a dream none of us can foretell.

 

 

 

Unless you heard me…

person wearing red hoodie

Photo by sebastiaan stam on Pexels.com

Who does not have a dark past?

Who does not have a story to tell about an old fear?

Who does not have to remember an ugly scar?

Who wants any of it?

Who does not want to forget all that transpired that day?

Who does not get hurt of a past being ridiculed?

Who does not want a chance to feel again?

Who does not want a peaceful now?

Who does not want a happy life?

 

Can you hear my story?

Your back has fled the minute the mouth took its first breath.

Can you bear my story?

Your hand has said ‘no’ what the tongue would not like to bite.

Can you please put away your things and read my story?

Your eyes wanted to sleep buried in your own fantasy.

Can you smell my story at least?

You wrapped yourself with a fur blanket.

Can you stay and never look away perhaps?

You remained silent and silence became a cold corpse lying beside a peculiar frame.

 

Please don’t tell me I didn’t tell you.

Please don’t say I didn’t have nightmares like you do.

Please don’t make me say things I didn’t want to hear myself.

Please don’t tell me it’s my fault again.

 

Unless you listen to my story, please don’t tell me things that kill me.

, and

please don’t judge me unless you’ve slept with my sorrow and history.

 

I don’t want to be just a dream you visit when you are asleep at night and forget when the morning light peeks through your eyes.

My Love Is Not Black

At night I don’t sing the tunes in blues

And perhaps, you’d think of me most

Being the sentimental sensational lover.

That might be true but tonight is

An ordinary night when I and my shadow

Walk around the Plaza to look for some warm and delectable feasts.

It is night and the sky has spread its cushion

Not for rest but for a graveyard shift

This night with our hands clasping will become

Hands with wings as I deliver the shadow

To his work                  and walk in similarly predictable feet.

Sleeping wouldn’t be without his arms and legs

And abs and chest…if only I am not in a dream state.

But the mouse will check my room, and I am with a steady companion

Not as hard as the night the other time when

We live to love for the day.

But it was only nearly yesterday when I last remember

the day to feel some newly baked bagels and roast chicken, and oh that saucy pasta

without the need for fear.

Now,

Here I am bedding myself for tomorrow is a date with

My beautiful shadow again

down to

Avenues where we no longer pull our hands apart simply because

The black sky would visit us on that day.

 

sky dancer

two white birds

Photo by NARENDER JASWAL on Pexels.com

 

beneath the dusty clouds

I have not found a robin

except in prose-poetry

where letters and music flew by

the vale now is swollen

and twilight comes descending

the egret’s beak is filled with

fish or symmetrical vertebrates

ancient rocks chuckle to me the

old lies

and I trace my veins a pulsate-beat

to give up all the earthly beasts

Up, up in the sky

A sky dancer passed by

She saw the crocodile slipped back

To the swamp and the water

Cease to ripple with the beat

Of ten-thousand birds churning

Except in prose poetry the heron

Found the egret fondling

And the sky dancer found the robin.

 

 

a poem untitled

silhouette photography of woman

Photo by Pete Johnson on Pexels.com

 

Play the prelude for me

Cascading strobe of light

On your piano keys

With shadow poetry.

 

Wherever the scenes

And frightening imaginations

Lure me, the light would still flicker on and off for me.

At night when this pen

 

Floats steadily yet too swiftly towards the

Bard’s musical entry

Blushing with goat’s eyes and rose-colored reflections.

 

I want this poetry to fall on puddles

Gathering ripples and the lips of her muse.

 

What kind of a man rejects the truth?

What kind of a man denies his fruits?

Does a man only remember the pleasure and not the promise?

What kind of a man is that?

What kind of man tells you not to live your own life?

What kind of a man blames you for all things that glitter?

What kind of a man takes every scoop?

What kind of a man is that?

What kind of hurt does a man capable of castrating a child, a woman, a mother, a sister?

What kind of a man mistake you for another?

What kind of a man is that?

What kind of a man turns you into a monster, a witch, a demon of yourself?

Full of rage?

What kind of man forces you to please the kind of a man that he is?

What kind of a man questions the kind of a woman you are?

What kind of pain is this? What kind of a man keeps you longing for a poem untitled?

Just what kind of pain is there for a woman who believes

For a woman who shares

For a woman who cares

For a woman who loves

For a woman who dares

For a woman who endures

For a woman who feels

For a woman who weeps

For a woman who keeps

For a woman who feeds

For a woman who prays

For a woman who stays?

What kind of pain must we endure for a poem untitled?

Just what kind of pain this is…

 

 

fog

branches daylight environment flowers

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I thought I was the ONLY one who heard that subtle and beautiful music. That I was the only one pouring the blood of my heart out—when words called upon words…I felt the tiny tingling touch of a pathetic child trying to run for the words of the other, wanting to touch you with equal substance and humor. But as each day passed by, a new bud of uncertainty always showed itself. I felt your words and my words moved away from the protected circle and found a new master to admire.

A lot of visitors visit you in your prison. They listen to you, they talk to you just like me…they understand you more than I understand you no matter how hard I try to hear with my own heart and listen with my own soul. And you…understand them…you admire them…you can hear them…you smile with that vicious fascination towards their understanding of you…and conversations between you and them have grown bigger in size and number…and I look at you…hurt…with jealousy…here in my prison…because you stop talking to me…stop listening to me…you no longer see me…perhaps my words and the music they play…no longer get to you…no longer touching your fingers…and so they break in silence.

So, I learned…not to reach you…I learned to stop reaching for your eyes…I learned to go back to my own prison…in the middle…so no walls or bars could touch my back or my hair…or my perfume…or you. Because I felt…jealous…little…unknown…unnamed…no one. I’m nobody around you and your listening, visiting, magical friends.

 

So, before more of this pride gets in my way I got myself a question: what’s this crying and helpless child doing …running around…for your attention? Just what am I doing? Dragging myself to you like an old piece of soiled clothes…expecting you could wash it clean for me…

then, maybe I started to realize that this kind of thing…burns you out…so you tend to look elsewhere for rest.

You and me…me and you…when words call upon words…ignore the music, the weight, the beauty that I just want the you and me to take care of with a new face, a new smile, a new shade—but in the end the lights shut off, the ink dries up and emptiness flows to me like tears dragging the bubbly feelings of a careful touch to wintry clouds…Didn’t we agree with you and me…me and you? But I feel that painting the walls to create symbolic messages, a code, a bible for you and me to see, for me to know and understand you and me…it left me… feeling anxious…undeserving…so dishonesty slowly eroded the surfaced soil to reveal that sense of nothingness between those words… and that engulfing emptiness rushed to me again like a giant storm surge…and I just…felt lost around you…and…me.

Jealousy gave me lips to bite in spite and anger. Doubt covered my eyes a fog… And emptiness…well, made me feel that I lost you…and me to you.

 

Can you still find me? Would we still look for us? Well, the fog isn’t clearing up. Please forgive me… I don’t want to misunderstand.

I fed you rice and salt for breakfast, I heard, a good body was a mana.

I gave you water for your dense body, it cleansed yesterday’s old pile of residue.

We won’t have more of this every day, for working hard doesn’t mean earning much.

Sometimes. It simply means be grateful for what you have.

My dear, there will be times when sickness will devour your body, and

My eyes can only watch and pray for money don’t come when we are ill,

But when we are well.

We look for shelter elsewhere and make do of bamboo shacks, and

banana leaves. You called out and said the gods must have hated my family!

And pointed the neatly painted walls of Aling Nena’s residence on a hillock

For many years, you said, Aling Nena will have to please me one day.

As you witness her roaring voice to river folks who would want nothing, but water for their cows

And pigs.

Every day, you start your day with a frowning face, busy hands and days old shirt.

For earning much means working harder. Mana will not come but only for the rich

Climbing up the hill would mean heavy legs and failing eyes.

But Aling Nena would have to please you one day, and today is that day.

You brought an ax to enter her room, you made your way to claim her blood

And, pour them down on your bamboo shacks. Now, God must hate my family!

And soon, it will rise up your new home with her blood.

 

 

 

Friendship day

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We found each other like how one would find her eyeglasses on a bedside table. Anxiously trying to see face to face the familiar monologue of a broken piece, and when we did our footprints traced the entire space with jazz music, colorful nights, and warm meals. Compartimos las herridas con limón, tequila y sal. I hope that even if stars live and die, our friendship stays. Happy Friendnniversary mis amigos mejores! Os extraño mucho. Espero que están bien en sus trabajos, familias y relaciones de corazón. Vamos a seguir el sueño de nuestros futuro especialmente viajar al otro parte del mundo. Mucho gusto!

 

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a 30-second thought

Ossified—

There’s no one right now in particular really.

I still have the name lists from yesterday’s friendship recruitment service. I have been notified of the no new policy for talent acquisition exchange yet.

I guess my heart’s friendship management company isn’t interested in hiring right now.

But I see someone visit the office, you know presenting five proposals and sometimes, doing a ten-minute demo on fancy friendship lessons.

Just like today, someone came to me at the lounge and asked how the interview came or if the admin like the funny, athletic and inspiring types.

But well, I just smiled and said, you can give them your best shot. “Are you presenting today?”

He said, yes with such a poker-clownish about to shit face.

Dude, good luck was what I said. I cheered him on! Can you believe that?

I told him that I’ll be relocated to the company’s third branch.

And his face from the cheerful and over-the-moon shine now to the sorrowful, have mercy don’t leave me yet, I’m scared now face.

It was a fun day, to say the least.

But that was all it. I mean, we don’t need to be necessarily the “We are meant to be, this is it, O my God what a wonderful world neurotic psychotic hypersensitive freaks of the young minds of friendship, right?

But well, there’s someone though. I know someone from somewhere who sings and has that bedroom voice…whew, yea boy a bedroom voice and a bedroom bed with a bedroom shirt and socks and trousers on the floor, a pen and a silver copy of his dandy notebook for poetry and a camera for beauty in shadows…in the light where stars can disappear and rainbows fall into letters and master weavers of dreams, and more friendships and sweet and nothing and bitter and floating and a guitar, lyrics, plucking…plucking his guitar…and I heard he’s presenting tomorrow…somewhere…but I don’t know… I’m invited if only I could get in the same bedroom where magic rides to coffee shops to schools to rainforests behind the city’s progressive state in front of the trains and buses and private car rides to friendships and forever to

Present to

 

well, back to reality I’m sure that, I know someone with that quality and qualification.

 

you know, I love this friendly conversation. Have I answered your friendly question?

 

anyway,

See you later when you fancy the three stars and the sun on your way home, ok?

 

 

 

 

not a desert cloud

you wrote your words like a prayer for me

healing waves rushed to my ribs

small seeds sprouting, astonishing

attraction. You can’t always touch a painting

this way, such kindness would’ve melted the

awkward colors.

 

You’re blessed with bliss by the divine

And talent knows her master’s sun

Your hand and eyes they know so well

The slightest doubt within tiny

Desert clouds.

 

Sweetheart, the politics of a conscious man

May frisk a friend to a dangerous submission

But with you, reign nothing sly neither is the man

Let’s eat, and I’ll pour you wine to

Revel our hearts breezy equal care

 

Sometimes I wonder if God has made you

The golden key to unknown windows and

Locked doors…you dress up with such loving words.

 

Within my bosom, I feel I have the sun’s worth

Raining light towards this forbidden log house

Thank you for rolling my lips to a certain smile

My cheeks glow with so much sunshine

My heart’s no longer the odd desert cloud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rapid shots of images

 

I came home late today. Later than usual. I met a friend from college and I was asked for an evening. We worked in the same block, surprise, my friend squandered all the time working behind our building. I didn’t know my friend was close by. A happy feeling!

Going home was a bit hard. There was traffic everywhere. Roads had been destroyed and re-widened. I called for a motorcycle. My body was heavy…heavy were my legs. But before I hopped on, I gave my friend a warm hug, but it felt like I was the one who needed it more.

The motorcycle was the scooter type. A rose-colored toy was driven by a random guy. “To this address, please,” I said. I had drunken tears. While on the road, I thought my tears were precious, I looked away so, it wouldn’t fall. The city life, nightlife was vigorously rough. Distantly looking away with tears about to drop.

And now you ask me about photographs and yesterday, the moon… Oh, that was rough. They transformed me, once again to be the sentimental, emotional snotty girl I was. “Sweetheart, tissue please.”

When I looked away all the buildings turned into frames of unrecognizable images. With my eyes blocked with warm liquid and my hair tossed by the nightly wind, they were rapidly changing frames one after the other. It was rough. My head hurts.

Sweetheart, perhaps I did not know anything about photography. Hues, shades, contrast, time conceived-perceived were dictionary terms for me. The pictures in my life were not taken by me. My face on paper or on the profile was not captured by my hands. Everything surreal to me. That’s why

I want to imagine to re-capture the desire and the unstated evidence of life and shadows within those clicks with words. Perhaps at the touch of a camera, my hands, oh they are such a nervous wreck. My tears and the camera would have dropped significantly in unison and break them into pieces. Perhaps, to you, sweetheart that would have been a deadly sight.

But I have always had this urge. That one day, I may get to capture my first image. That the day will come that I might see the image with the kind of lens that only you have. And my hands would cease to shake and just move swiftly like that of a Pro.

Perhaps. Or I might as well just be nurturing this absurdity. Who knew.

The wintry moon, the spring flowers, the summer seas, and the autumn sky, sweetheart, what do you think? May I?

lunacy

white and black moon with black skies and body of water photography during night time

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

…in this sultry evening, I surrendered all my defining colors. The sense of loss that I felt inside brought me an immense feeling of melancholy. Tonight, my feet sailed away to alleys, and creeks in hopes of retrieving that old symphony. I moved to yellow flame, orange flame, red flame, blue flame and in between yellow, orange, red and blue…but I was only met with words of a midnight-blue with a tinge of a yellow soul. Cold and frozen that hard grass and roses froze a timeless brood. They were wrapped by the pallid arms of ivy that propped the whole city. All there was a miasma; the sulfuric atmosphere of death and hell. The perfection of tonight can only get better without my groove. The tempest-state of some savage crimson carving bears on his battered wings. I can’t wait for the shedding of tears…the shedding of my tears for you when all the fowls are fearfully kept behind the auburn curtains of lunacy.

The invite

pink leafed trees

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

 

Come on. Let’s take a picture together.

With a panoramic view and a psychedelic feel

I want us to make love with the Lord’s every creation

With our eyes open for wounds, and hands for healing.

 

People aren’t poems, but we reduce them into words

And describe them with a ginger beard and gingerbread?

Oh no, I don’t know where this talk is going

After all, I bed you so poetically

That my feet desire a walk to where your eyes gaze at

Even desperately.

 

And now, I’m plagued with love bites.

Undoubtedly, as the rainbow falls over my heiress beauty

Believing you are more than enough!

 

 

shadows

close up photo of assorted color of push pins on map

Photo by Aksonsat Uanthoeng on Pexels.com

 

Even shadows have weight

That seeps through the marrow

Of the righteous nape.

If I have my way, I want to collect

All the accompanying nameless

Friends that only grow bigger

With ignorance left on the

Windowsill.

I want for a single hour

Sway the arms that fully stretch

Around a cold corpse bed without

The grasses and weeds folding in fear, and

Sandal straps being torn.

SNAILish life

brown snail

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Young lad, isn’t she a picture of a cunning beauty?

Trudging slowly on various surfaces leaving all her desires with a slime, highly predictable and dangerously cute.  

Yet a slow life is what she sees… and prolonged journeys.

Every once in a while, she turns her head side to side to see if there are other movements around, and when she finds none, her journey continues until a weird guy appears in sight.

 

The first to see the other is her but the last to disappear is also her. Funny how she’s able to see all happening at once.

 

But if there’s one thing our little snail should be happy about, it’s seeing everything unfolds before her eyes like she only knows the mystery in Pandora’s box.

 

Yes, there’s beauty in slow life but only if your eyes want to see…

and sometimes, seeing requires an overwhelming amount of curiosity and concentration.

 

In their absence,

 

what you’ll find out there is not the sound…nor the traces or what’s around but the stale fragments of a forgotten mystery.

 

 

Nothing better

the insides of my mind are helpless. and the extreme blood flow is fogging my line of vision. about to let go of her only sanity.

 

Nothing better.

nothing better.

 

how does one ever learn to turn grief into happiness? How does one ever learn all of this?

 

I never learn it. Grief is grief. But happiness represents many things. I never learn the opposite.

 

The loudest kid is the shiest one. the most colorful as the saddest. and the brighter one makes the darkest. Do you know that saying?

 

And that makes me’It.’

 

 

 

nothing better.

 

someone died. and because I couldn’t stand looking at all the memories that were left around, I chose to stay uninvolved as if I never felt it or never saw it.

 

who wouldn’t?

who isn’t afraid?

 

would things get any better if I continue to just hang on?

 

what would you have said and done if you were asked the same question out of desperation?

 

I turned away. not looking back.

 

so he died.

 

if he was freer or not, pained or relieved, no one can know any of that.

 

now, I’m going through all of it. Seeing things I never realized were there until I got to see them myself. Having a lot of options but none of them gives me any thing significant. all things seemed a bit hurried and even I who happened to be there with him, it felt like deja vú.

 

what would you do? kept echoing back and forth.

 

To be in a place I so wanted to escape. Life really has its way of paying back those who tries to reverse the rules or change it.

 

shame, guilt and self-deprecation, fear and constant loneliness

 

would things get any better if I stop right now?

 

waking up at a beach, a place with no name.

 

 

 

 

will this be my place now?