I’d never thought I liked poetry. To be honest, I thought of it as something cheesy and head-in-the-clouds-ish (silly me).
One day, poetry just came to me. Unexpectedly. Unplanned.
Bam, for once in my life, I resonated with the poems I read and listened to. I was hooked. No idea why.
Soooo, for whatever reasons, I started writing poems. I become cheesy and head-in-the-cloud-ish. And it’s fun to be.
My poems are fragmented and don’t follow any rules. They’re purely my feelings, thoughts, dreams, imagination, life events, nonsensical whispers, anything really. They’re raw, unprocessed, unedited, and unrefined. They’re simply for anyone who can resonate.
On some days, rhythms just come out naturally to me. On some other days, I come across great ideas when reading a book, sifting through my journal, glancing out of the windows, bopping my head to my favorite Spotify playlist, and I grab my phone to capture the words.
Sometimes, my mind goes blank and I stop writing. But somehow, magically, I still keep this new interest going for months. I hope I can keep this beauty for as long as I can in my life. It makes my life more…poetic.
Anyway, the poems I wrote—I decided to share some of my favorites here.
silence
you are the blue sky
that I can only stare
my hands reach out
but the silence shouts
you’re the dream
i’m too afraid to lose
waking up one morning
facing the silence i choose
ash and dust
love or lust
all that’s left was ash and dust
graveyard
the passion was dead
lying stark naked
vulnerable and dismayed
dreams and hope decayed
that feeling we left to rot
just breathe its last breath
crossed paths
somehow they crossed paths
out of the blue, in the dark
burn their own bridges
there was no way to come back
to where they used to meet
buried illusions
the illusions were corpses
waiting to be buried
no way they became true
there would be a fee
for dragging the corpses around
couldn’t get out of coffins and soil
soft skin were so fresh and moist
but slowly it putrefied
mental breakdown piercings
mental breakdown piercings
one for releasing myself
the other for reaching freedom
the sound and the pain
when the needles poked through
my skin and cartilage
were to remind me of a memorable time
it took a few seconds
to create wounds
but it would take months
for the wounds to be healed
with the conditions
that we don’t touch them
leave them alone
and care for them properly
something we forgot to do
when we started out
noon nap
startled
eyes opened wide
heart beated loud
the orange fragments
popped up in my mind
created a hollow hole inside
turned my memory gray
took my noon nap away
confused
i was confused of who i really was
i gazed at the stars
was there an answer for me?
glittery, shiny, blinky
i counted and connected the glowy dots
then i forgot the numbers, the connections
i started again
running around in circles
favorite playlist
i listen to it on bright days
i listen to it on blue days
sometimes i hum
sometimes i strum
and rarely do i wonder
can the notes and lyrics ever be delivered
to wherever you are
because i know they can’t
it’s only me here singing
and turning up the volume
to forget the world around
for a while
uncover
there’s no point in acting like a hypocrite
because people do notice
lies, stabs, bad deeds
there’s nothing we can cover them with
tantalize
there’s no need to tantalize
the truth will shine
as bright as the sky
only the fools try to close their eyes
and it’s just a matter of time
before they realize
the truth
the obnoxious truth
is what we can’t ignore
it’s forever there
torturing us—fools
neutral
missing comes like waves of a calm sea
touching the shore without it even knowing
fragmented, unexpected, throughout the day
sometimes burning, sometimes numb
not fierce enough to ache
not light enough to forget
green or gray
the green dot
is gray today
can it tell me
that’s everything okay
remind me of the good
terrify me by the bad
my puffy love
she’s got soft fur
she murmurs a purr
her tail is so straight
pushes all my stuff away
orange, white, gray
she’s who makes my day
shallow
flimsy excuses
lip-deep words
superficial gestures
skin-deep caring
perfunctory acts
half-hearted attempts
insincere treatment
for the umpteenth time
just fail to fool me
So…that’s all for now. I’ll post new poems when I successfully conquer my laziness.
By the way, some poems I really love recently: If I Was a Love Poet & Theories About the Universe.
I’m gonna be honest, I’m not much of a love poet but if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I was gonna write about love my first poem it would be about you about how I love you the same way I learned how to ride a bike scared but reckless with no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you … I know this is going to sound weird, but sometimes, I pray that God somehow turns you back into one of my ribs Just so I would never have to spend an entire day without you…
– Rudy Francisco
When I want something with my whole being, and the universe withholds it from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself: “Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants, but she does not understand how it will hurt.
– Blythe Baird
Updated on Oct 29, 2021
calico and marmalade
calico looked at marmalade
while sitting inside, a safe space, next to the fireplace
marmalade glanced at calico and quickly rolled its eyes
while sitting outside, in the dark, on the fence
calico was looking at that dot next to marmalade
there were only two colors
either soothing or destructive
either present or wandering
either there or not
but that was the only thing calico could hold onto
the only thing it could stare at
to heal its sickness
the sickness of missing that orange warmth
the only thing left it could grieve on
unknown, without the fear of disturbance
calico was choked by the words it wished it could blurt out
but it couldn’t
so it kept sitting inside, looking, and staring at the circle
in silence
on its last leg
when the pink bubbles popped
there came the shadowy darkness
she was thrilled and weary
she was intoxicated and jaded
the beautiful prose was on its last leg
or was there any at all?
warmth
that warmth is the comfort they seek
short-lived, momentary, fleeting
a glass of lukewarm milk before bed
a hot bathtub after a worn-out day
that warmth cannot redefine the kismet
nor change the problems they face
just two intertwining hands
dilly-dallying aimlessly and indecisively