Searching.

I'm watching the world spin across your fingertips,
Smoothly, trace me your maps.
I want to see the travels between here and there,
I want to know the culture of what you're made of.
Your light shines upon me.
No longer lost in that darkness.
The blue radiates from beneath your lashes.
I search the deep waters, and grin when I think I've found it.

Melody.

I woke with my face nuzzled in your chest, the warmth of your breath flowing down my face; listening to the rhythmic thumps of your heart... like my own little melody. 

Leaves.

I am changing and falling and twisting. Just like the leaves.

Enlightenment.

It's refreshing to know that I can feel in the breath of numb distraction. Ambivalence is no longer my middle name. For a while, I thought it would last forever. I can feel everything again. The unlocked, unhinged part of me. There is no other path but honesty and it's complete, this invitation. The hand out was only temporary. So what's the new lesson? My instinct can be blinded by ignorant stupidity. Nothing more, nothing less. Plainly stated, I can be wrong. You have no role in this anymore. I will be nothing better than I am right now if you were to stay, so go. Soon you'll fall to the sidelines as a fractured impediment. The obstacle is overcome. It's true that wanting will come in waves, but I will wake to sunshine anyways. And if the sun is behind the clouds, well... it will still be. 

Incomplete.

I need to dance, I think to myself as I stare at my lonely tap shoes sitting quietly on the dusty shelf in front of me. It's like they are screaming out to me. Only after not being able to dance for so long now, I realize that maybe that is the reason I am not functioning as well. When I dance, I feel... like everything finally comes in to focus. Like every breath, every beat of the music, every moment, and every movement carries meaning and value. Time slows down, even as the outside world rushes by. When I dance, I feel beautiful, I feel the energy. When I dance, I know that there is nothing else I'd rather do. If you don't dance, you just don't get it. If you do dance, you know how you can't live without it. It's simply a habit that feeds itself. As I gently slide my foot into the dusty shoe, a rush of excitement flows through my body from my toes to my finger tips. I let myself go to the music; I am fully functioning.

Whole.

You are whole. Breathe in, breathe out.

You are whole. You are worth while.

They can’t take everything from you.

Oh, but they can try, and overcoming

these memories, these painful memories.

No it’s not easy.

But what has happened does not define you.

You are whole. You are still a whole person.

So hold on, just hold on.

You will make it out of this dark abyss.

Breathe in, breathe out. You are whole. 

Chance.

It's funny how things happen. Like a little bit a fate stepping in on a cloudy day.

Train.

People glance as I sit on the train, my knees pulled tightly to my chest, the world around me passing in a colorful blur, a single tear gently falling down my left cheek, hot against my cold skin. This is my life now, I say to myself. A sense of realization, acceptance, and terror tread through my body all at once. Life is different. Life changes. Life will be hard. But it will also be beautiful.

A writer's perspective.

I thought I knew how it felt. I thought I had memorized the feeling of not being happy, of wanting more, of being ajar. I thought I had settled for this second skin; the acceptance that sometimes it just isn't a choice. It is a luxury to be able to feel what you wish to feel, and more often than not, life cannot afford such ease.


The problem with being a dreamer, a writer, a poet, is not that they feel more than everybody else, but that they cannot escape from it. All the pain, ache, and explosions. Others can dismiss as merely a feeling that cannot be contained. But for us, there are endless words to describe the way we feel, to actualize the feeling, to give it existence, to gravitate them. The irresistible impulse to label everything, to get to the bottom of every unexplainable feeling is crippling. To live as a writer is non-apologetic. Everywhere that you try to escape to is aesthetically numb. Even when you do not see what reminds you of it, words are running madness inside your head.


The problem with being this writer, or dreamer, is that I feel too much for my own good. No one will ever understand it. The idea of being happy is extraordinary. Sometimes I dream of not feeling. Of just existing. Of not being physically able to hurt inside. I did not choose to be a person that feels too much, or someone that is compelled to write word after word after word. Every time I think I could be content, something thrusts me back into a higher feeling that I cannot control. I thought I knew how it felt, how everything is, how people are, but I cannot will my heart to think the same.

Whisper into me, life.

There was something about the silence which would travel me back into the bleakest yet memorable fragments of my past; moments of happiness that I knew would never return, which in turn, would stir a hurricane of emotion within me. I would be left to battle my scars in the dark, which I never could sense nor overcome. Yet, it was strange that I found solace between these fragments, of what was and what could have been. I guess I would force comfort into the belief that there was still hope for their absence to be filled. Because when one places so much of their essence into another, you feel slightly empty when they leave you. Maybe it was not by choice, but by circumstance yet you’re still left waiting for what you deserve… Nonetheless, what matters now is that you both no longer co-exist. And it’s this silence, which reminds you of all the above and if you allow it to, torments you for having safeguarded them. It’s this silence that has left me to ponder again into everything I already have answers to. Yet, it’s the silence that reassures me, all that I know, is just not enough.

Dreams.

Last night I dreamt that I jumped from a cliff, and dove into deep crystal blue waters. I kept sinking and sinking, but I could breathe underwater. It was so peaceful down there. Peaceful and calm and serene. With no nightmares flashing and no thoughts screaming. For the first night in a long time, I didn't wake up screaming.

Last letter.

Let's skip the charades,
You're seeing right through me anyway.
Can we just speak plain,
We're playing for the same team.