Month: January 2023

Five petals on a rose
My heart was your rose
When I met you feelings arose
I couldn’t stop
I was addicted
I relied on you for happiness
I thought I could trust you
Five petals and you made it six
My petals wilted like your love for me
Five petals left but I couldn’t leave
I depended on you for everything
My roots became weak
Five petals turned into four
I swore to be hurt by you no more
Four petals turned into three
I was as weak as can be
Three petals turned into two
All I had left was you
Two petals turned into one
I reminisced what once was
One petal left
I was at my lowest
Zero petals left
My parents crying over my grave
Petals can never grow back

What makes a young mind wander
Yes, that’s the question I ponder
Yes, that is the question we ponder
No, not our physique or appearances
But what may lead to our seemingly unquestionable disappearances
What keeps us lying awake every night
How do we solve the inquiry that fill our dreams with fright
Our world may be shaping to be dim and small
Our lives in comparison only a protocol
But alas, the future is nothing but a distant yonder

Wintertime, however hard it tries,
Will always be peaceful.
White snowflakes fall from the sky,
Dancing in the air
Snow makes the world beautiful
When it’s falling on Christmas
The mountains glistening
Making everything white.
The calm quiet streets, free to rome.
Twinkling lights lining houses
Cold noses, ears, faces,
Winter is beautiful.

Shifting like sand,
The wind carries the grain.
Slipping on mud and ice,
After the winter rain,
Cold blisters scrape at my heels.
And though the frozen air bites my flesh
And the sun scorches my skin,
I will not let it win
For my strength resides within.
I will embrace sudden changes.
For the perception of my foundation, does not face deception,
From the sudden suspension of its completion.
I am expanding my mind.
So that I may see with many eyes,
Beautiful things that reach beyond the skies.

It’s been raining for the past two days
As a kid, people used to say that rain was god crying,
But I’ve never believed in god
Still, I found myself praying for you
I prayed you’d stay with me
But the prayers never worked and you’re gone

If god is real, he’s failed me, abandoned me,
I come home expecting you to be waiting for me,
But you’re never there
I sleep expecting you at the foot of my bed
I wait for you to claw at the door
But you’re never there

Nobody prepared me to lose you
I see your water bowl upstairs,
Tucked into the corner of the closet
You were dying in
I see your half-full bowl of food downstairs
I don’t have the heart to put away

Your fur covers everything I own
A constant reminder that I’ll never get to touch it again
My lint roller sits on my bedside table but I refuse to use it
If I clean you off of my clothes, my sheets,
That means you’re really gone

The plants that you loved to chew are now dying too
It’s as if they know, as if they miss you as well
That’s ridiculous, though, because they’re just plants
And you were just a cat

Yet when I close my eyes
I see you
I see you laying on that blanket in that closet
I see the pain you were in
And how I couldn’t fix it

All I could do was lay there next to you
On that hardwood floor
My memory is branded with your exasperated mews
At two AM
I stayed with you the rest of the night
I feared that if I went to sleep, you’d be gone when I awoke
I rushed you to the vet in the morning
I left you there for over ten hours
You purred in my arms the whole way there
You were never an outdoor pet,
So I’m glad you got to see the world a bit

When I saw you again after all those hours, you meowed again
I buried my face in your fur
I held you in my arms
As you died

My thoughts are vivid with your lifeless body, your piercing blue eyes
And the final kiss I placed on your nose
I walked through those doors with nothing left
But the memory of you

I give a dollar, I’m handed a dime
Which I tell them to keep: change makes me feel filthy.
It seems that there’s not enough adequate time.
If you only have coins, keep the change, keep my fifty.

I’ve been judged for my fear what feels like my whole life,
“Change is natural, change is normal”
I’m fine, I’ll get by.
I never liked change, it’s my unchanging moral.
If things were to change I think I might ___.

“Why are you afraid? Pennies are lucky!”
Am I the only one that thinks this way?
I guess it’s just my ideology.
I can’t keep my thoughts from running astray.
But I feel like it’s the policy
To repay my childhood with honesty
For blessing me with odyssey
Don’t come at me modestly
I believe this wholeheartedly
And change won’t drain my childhood ways
If I allow things to change my heart will strain
I don’t even want to imagine the pain
Of me going about things a different way.

What were you saying about a penny?

Heating from the sun
Warm to the touch
Sun goes down
Cold as you clutch

Hitting the sand
Walk along the waves
Shells in my hand
Time moves and misbehaves

Sand misting in the air
Brushing against the glare
Orange and yellow glow
The sunset only grows

Pay attention to the morning
The bright sun shining through
You see beauty
It ties the world together
Holds your gaze
Casts you out
Reals you in
You look at yourself in the mirror
You don’t see your beauty the same way
You pick yourself apart
But not the sun
The sun is beautiful to you, But you aren’t
You compare yourself to everyone you see
You look in every reflection windows, mirrors, black screens
You still don’t see your beauty
But you see others

Every night
We would pray in your home
I knew not about God
But I knew the sounds leaving your throat
And I would utter them in accordance

Now the pews, the altars
The stained glass, the hymns
I drink it all in
For they are all about you
Never about God

I was the bearer of the ring upon your finger
And in tears
The blessing they received
Was in the palm of my hand
The hand you held when you lead the prayer

You’re weak now, weaker than I could know
Yet you push through
Your thorns will cut my skin
But my skin will heal
And my love will be all that remains

Her silhouette is dimly lit
By a weak bulb that dangles
From the pale kitchen ceiling

A scrap of steel wool is clutched in one hand
Whilst the other strangles a rusted iron pan
Her apron is soiled and soaked
Her steaming rubber gloves cling hot and close

She pumps with a fury
From its old plastic crock
The watered-down soap
Onto the food-spattered wok

There, in the shallow tin sink
Lies a mug, a cutting board, a spoon or two
She disentangles the mass of forks interlink’d
With mechanical movements; as one well used to

Her children are silent in their beds
She looks out the window, oppressive in its night-black
There is a pounding, a swelling in her head
She shuttles more dishes onto the dripping plastic rack

In her mind, she reviews and replays
The happenings and trials
Of her working day-to-day
Phone calls, letters, marking files.

This was not all she had once known –
She used to always be with book in hand;
Anna Karenina, Madame Bovary, Middlemarch
A modern Becky Sharp in rigorous self-command

She too had once had aspirations
Ambitions to rise from her lowly stool
Clever schemes and sagacious machinations
But alack – the world was subtly sly and cruel.

This was how she was thus bound
With hands constrained to the kitchen sink
Her dreams; they slowly drowned –
And her hand remained chained to its silver ring.