#7I can see your smiling face
Represented on a glowing screen
And I press delete,
As if it would erase the ghost of you.
Enough For YouI love the way your eyes seem way too big for your head, and that look you give when lingering on the cusp of an opinionated rant. Don't get me wrong, you're far from perfect, but you have this ability to pull my lips into a smile. And I could get lost in yours.
And we argue over stupid things like
What happens after we die
As if that somehow matters.
Then you just drop my sentences like used matchsticks into your fire of undeniable faith, and reach for the Slivovitz.
And sometimes I feel more than hard to love. Sometimes your grand adventures throw a perspective that I am not enough. And then you ask why I'm still always sad.
And when I'm reminded of him, always him, and my eyes are veiled and you lose count of the droplets clinging to my eyelashes, your voice is torturously tender; "I couldn't hurt you like he did".
It hurts to fall in love with all these little pieces of you. It hurts to feel my scars slowly fading into memories like ships in the night.
Because I know I'm not enough
And Then YouTonight I don't want to be alone. The dark, an emptiness full of unknowns, threatens my dim and wavering existence. Because I'm so small in everything and still not small enough to go unnoticed. And my head is full of so many regrets that roll like crashing waves.
Deep in my heart of hearts and soul of souls I see blue eyes- bright, painful memory and sharp lies and malcontent. Brown eyes- the things I did to start again and inadequacy and loss. Staring and soulless from the sockets of who I used to know. And my memories churn like turbulent seas, and roll like crashing waves.
All I can picture is this feeling of not being enough. I need to move on but maybe it's the past that's not letting go of me. Maybe I've tried to fight it. Maybe it's all too much.
I'm so meaningless and small and yet they won't let me slip away. I'm so lonely and they won't let me be alone.
And then there was you.
Bucolic SuffocationI'm getting kind of tired of this bucolic town, where nothing ever changes and everything is full of stale memories.
And I'm getting really sick of those arrogant people who breeze in and out, and make me feel inadequate with the life I'm living. In an indirect way, I suppose you were one of them.
At the moment, I'd do anything to be happy, even if it means leaving everything behind,just to have an excuse to never say your name again.
The night, The lighthouseThe night is so long. The night is so long and I hardly sleep without him here. It's nights like these that I had him close to where my fragile heart was beating.
The night is so long and lonely, and my life sometimes feels like an anomaly or an oblivion. Oh eternal universe, so endless and beautiful, oh time, my old friend. Please let me slip away.
On nights like this one I could touch the beauty of forever, that fleeting and perfect thing. On nights like this I was in love, for how could I not have loved him and his easy, wan smile?
The night is so long. I have spent these days in the dark. A year without the sun. A year without my love. Those with words more beautiful than my own have said it, that love is so short and oblivion so long.
The night is eternal for me. There will be no sun while he is not with me. Without him,
Without him I just try to stop the days from hurting.
I try to keep the pain away from me.
The night is so long and I am afraid of the dar
StrengthStrength is knowing that no one can hit me as hard as I've hit myself. I've pulled myself apart and become my own worst enemy. I've hurt myself more than anyone else ever could. And I'm starting to realize that I can't make myself good enough for you. I can't be everything you need or anything you want. So the days pass me by like razor blades and bruising blows. There is no comfort for me. And there's nothing to make the days stop hurting. All I get is that one moment held against you. One moment when all the voices in my head go silent. One moment when I'm not constantly refreshing the feelings of my own inadequacy. That's all there is for me.
Together in what might have beenYou're my
and I am your
Together in curses
without you it seems
to float away
and I can't find
my way back home
Last lamentYour face burns behind my eyes.
I feel myself begin to cry,
because you were everything to me.
and you and I just couldn't be.
An iron lump in my throat,
feel like I'm about to choke.
Hands go cold, knees give way.
Haven't seen you since that day.
I can still smell you in the air.
Feel my fingers running through your hair.
I can hear you say you love me so.
I can taste the regrets of letting go.
There wasn't room in your life for me,
and all the things we could be.
Bitter symphonies of cold lament,
the words I wish you never meant.
Memories bitter on my tongue,
all our moments, every one.
The taste of you in my mouth,
I'm fading, falling, going out.
And silent secrets are all I see,
with the priceless things we won't be.
Your face burns behind my eyes.
Still can't believe it was all lies.
I'm sorry, my darling, for making you bleed.I want to tell you
all my worries inside.
cold regrets and
my dearest one,
I want it to be yours again.
And I don't think I can
looking for you in empty places
getting my hopes up
that you'll see me
and want me
Loving you hurt me.
when you couldn't be there.
But leaving you hurt more.
It was pain,
pure and unadulterated.
And I know my apologies
floating away on
But I'm still yours
I promised you I would be.
I'm yours even when
you aren't mine.
And I always will be.
I know I stuffed up.
I made a mistake.
I know I don't deserve you.
But darling I can't forget about you;
You once said I was the only one for you.
And I want you to believe that again.
ii.You stitch seams. You know how to stitch your skin together after your dad hits you. Your mother taught you what thread is best for fixing yourself. She taught you in the way of you had to learn yourself because she never did it for you. She is your homeostasis. Your father keeps your blood running. Your father buys you makeup because you have to cover the bruises.
You love your parents.
You seal every cut that you make with clear nail polish because it's cheap and it stings and it's toxic and maybe you'll die faster. Your mother taught you how to paint your nails before she taught you how to keep yourself from landing on the floor after every hit. The more you cut the less you bleed. The hair doesn't even grow back anymore. The cells have begun to protest the abuse like the way you do not. You love your parents. They provide you with everything you could ever want. There are three basic human needs, your AP
The Real YouDay after day, you busy yourself with things that you enjoy, hobbies that make you content, spend time with people who make you laugh. Your friends see you smile and love the sunshine it brings to them, and you yourself are glad you could give them happiness. They see you as someone to turn to when they need to be reminded that life isn't so bad, that there is a way to express joy through the hard times, and they thank you for helping them, even though it seems like you were doing nothing but being yourself. But it was being yourself that spread those smiles to others, wasn't it? A chain reaction caused by the simple act of your own face preforming the ever so contagious grin. They see you as carefree, jubilant, energetic, and nothing seems to bother you. You love when people tell you you've made them smile, and it makes you smile, glad to know that you brought them happiness.
Then you remember who you really are. You remember that they've never seen the real you. You remember that the
Open Letter You and I are very rare.
Third generation Asian-Canadians makes up less than 1% of the total population. From an early age we learned to wear three masks like Nezha. I am Canadian. Je suis Canadien. 我是加拿大人。
The grass gives off a crimson light on either side and I’ve been trying to stay safe in the the sidewalk between them but I’m at the edge. Or maybe I’ve already fallen off and I’m just a being of nothing nothingness. I’ve already gotten accustomed to being in nothingness. Been reading Descartes and Kierkegaard and I can’t fathom the mathematics behind happiness.
Two fugitives ran away from home and conceived
sadness when my mind is unmappedsadness.
when my mind
continuos plans and goals
people and noise
a well designed team
but my mapped mind
is peace to me
DeviantArt the beneficiary
of a life long collaboration
of mind mappers
are you under it?
or, is it under you.
it is coming.
surrender your beliefs
open your mind
is the idea
Trinity I find myself by circumstance at a loss. Bereft of words plentiful and meaningful enough to utter the praises that all of you so rightly deserve. I have but one opportunity to express just how much you have come to mean to me and why. The clock faces me, oblivious to my frustration while every tick serves to repeat the same reminder. You are running out of time, it says. You had best hurry if you want to meet this deadline.
I thought of writing a series of poems, each one a tribute to the ones I admire and have come to love. Even then, the words just couldn't come out. I thought of creating six word stories, one for each person. Again, the words would not manifest. How to sum up in six words all that you have done and continue to do to this day?
At length, I decided to simply write out how I feel in a letter of sorts. And even with an unlimited word count, I would struggle for days, weeks even to reach out to all of those I have befriended
Me enamoreMe enamoré de ella de forma lenta y sin darme cuenta.
Primero: Conociendo sus facetas traviesas y divertidas.
Después, conociendo aquella parte; esa parte de ese bello ser humano que nunca nadie había podido
tener el privilegio de conocer.
Me enamoré de ella, lento; y después de forma abrupta y fuerte.
Fue sin querer. Sin que ella lo pensara y sin que yo quisiera…
Ella me enamoró; con sonrisas, con lágrimas, palabras y compañía. Ella me enamoró con besos, caricias y miradas. Ella me enamoró; con silencios, regaños y abrazos… Ella simplemente se entregó a mí con el temor latente de lastimarla; con ese temor que todo ser humano, que todo individuo tiene al correr el riesgo de enamorarse, pese a todo eso; ella se enamoró de mí.
¿Cómo es posible? ¡Qué se enamore de alguien como yo!
De alguien tan obsesivo con detalles pequeños y minuciosos.
on breaking and unbreakingand play your favourite song on repeat, on stereo, in the car, through your headphones, blast it loud and whisper it through speakers, the song that you would listen to when crying, when your tchaikovsky of a heart is splintered into pieces, the song that connects you to a hundred, a thousand other splintered hearts, and keep playing it, keep playing it until you write it when you're waiting for the bus, lyrics on skin, until you sing it in your sleep, until your mind flinches away from that first opening sequence, until the words are sour in your lovely, lovely mouth, until the sound of it brings your splintered heart to life just so it can refuse to beat in time to the music.
and once you have done this, remember how you loved it. and remember how they loved you. and remember that you haven't really changed, and the music hasn't really changed, but it isn't the right song anymore. it isn't the one you play when you're crying or when your heart is splintered.
remember when your heart
Dear Ex,My heart overflows with gratitude to you for the wonderful way that you've been treating me since our breakup. The past months have been truly enlightening, and the gifts that you have given to me have warmed my heart, strengthened my spirit, and broadened my mind.
First, I must thank you for ignoring me, especially for passing me straight on the street, staring at your shoes as if you hadn't seen me there, even though I had been walking so close to you that our shoulders would have bumped each other, had there been only a foot's less distance between us. The time without you has forced me to reach within myself for the companionship and encouragement that I needed to press on. It has proved to me that you weren't as much as I had made you out to be, and enabled me to learn to carry on without you. You taught me a lot about putting others before myself, versus knowing when to put myself before others.
Secondly, I am grateful for your petty arguments, demanding my attention while
Foolish Lament Of MineHandsome as the fairy-tale person you would never expect to meet-- Bowing before me as if I were his Queen, not a princess. Lips as pink as a rose; eyes green as the beautiful emeralds on the necklace of a king, yet his posture so correct and poise you would have to see it to believe my every note..
When I was writing this, did I imagine the man I started talking to months ago or did I imagine Tamaki from the romantic school comedy anime.... All these qualities I was listing in this romantic series I had written almost a year ago, and the qualities I listed in my heartbox that's underneath my dresser (that I've yet to bury in the backyard), they had come true... Or were they meant as a reminder..
Was the person I was talking to supposed to be a daily reminder that I'm not foolish to dream endlessly of the possibilities for numerous romantic situations to happen between my future love and I...? I believe so. When I look back on the romantic stories I read, to suppress the lonelin
RunningI've never wanted to run away so much. Just keep running, until I can taste blood in my mouth and breathing hurts and you are so very far away. You stare blankly, and make my heart howl like a wild animal as it attacks my chest and fights against the bonds holding it in. Your gaze is steady, you know how much pain it's causing me. Your lips in a half smile as you bask in my pain. My vision blurs as A fresh batch of tears collects in my eyes, glazing them with my sadness. And you're still smiling, so proud of yourself. So gleeful at the fact that you inflicted this.