skies and stars

It's early autumn and the skies darken earlier
Days ago it was pitch-black at seven in the afternoon
But today
It's eight
And the sky's a dull slate grey
Splotched with patches of deep navy ink
And—
Strange—
Dots of light dusty periwinkle?

Where the light shines from, I can't be certain
No moon in sight confirms my suspicions
Half the sky is a black, rust-brown
The other half, a deep dark blue

Today

It's eight
On a early-middle autumn day

Darker than before
But my sky
My sky is brighter than at the beginning of this fall.

the same mistakes

I look up at the moon and stars
in fear that time will pass me by
too quickly as I bow my head
in deep regret of the wasted past
And while I yearn to stare down my heart
to reflect on what I should have done
I tell myself to see the sky

and Move on

not Repeat

gratitude 🕷️

The most beautiful creation of humankind,
that which immortalizes through ink and song,
still bastardizes this profound gratitude
for what saves my life
over

and over.

And in that I see
Just how much I value time in this world
     in this state of matter --
So much so, that
through profession of this song in my soul,
the garish light of its own conception
and reality enhanced by its being shared

mutes its flaring hues.

Yet, I still wish for the world
to see just how much it means to me
and in that eternal struggle
such gratitude warps into a pied jester
and turns to taunt me
and taint itself.

where will you go?

This here, what you see, is not the end of the road, nor the beginning.

It is another lamppost at the corner, casting its halo around you.

Where you go is where your soul will lead you, not where another will guide you.

Where will you go?

Will you walk straight ahead, towards the misty shroud of mystery facing you?

Or duck under dark branches and find yourself in uncharted territory?

I can’t answer for you, but I, for one, will just close my eyes and follow my toes.

TIME

I feel my time slipping away from me like the loose reins of a sun chariot.

Every time I see the date, I tighten my grip, only to be burned. Too fast.

Yes, I hold the whip to control the horses running rampant,

but instead they whip me with their wild constraints.

And so the human revokes mastery of the universal dimension

And thus the world -- great grand scheme -- returns to order

Yet returns to chaos

As the human -- puny perspective -- sees it.

midnight roads

i'd nearly forgotten
the solitude
and occasional loneliness --
of late, late nights.

for the short time you kept me close,
for the short time you sang to me 'til dawn,
i'd nearly forgotten
the heavy road,
empty except for my soul.

and sometimes,
the solitude --
it shines bright,
a single serene star in the night.

yet
sometimes,
i'm blind.
i stumble,
and i fall,
and i must wait
the painful hours before i fall asleep
and find relief from impasse.

only to wake up the next morning,
and repeat it all again at night.

rest in the day,
travel at night.
midnight roads
steeped in a stream
of consciousness newly brought forth.

the reveal --
rose-colored,
or wracking?
i never know until the time comes.

walk with me,
until daylight.
watch with me,
the beauty
-- and the torture --
of the night.

flaws

// it's been too long. I've missed you!

flaws
     create beauty
the beauty can be
     catastrophic. psychotic. unnerving.
it can be hard to see.
it might be impossible to see
     through the eyes of some.
     maybe only the stone cold, or --
          different --
     can see.
but there is beauty that we cannot
     and should not
deny.

it is pure.
it is raw.
in its essence, the beauty itself
     is innocent.
maybe not the creator,
but the beauty,
     its characteristics --
that is all it knows,
that is all it exists as,
that is all it can be.
yes, it was
     born
     from a flaw,
but it is perfect
in its own
     beautiful
way.

truth and a dream of transparency

delirious mist boils me raw
sordid blue dreams trudge in my mind
voices beg for freedom from my fingertips
there, grasped tightly in my palm --
red crescent marks:
sore, stopping them from soaring.
them. they who are loud.
grating.
raucous.
the truths, the harsh truths,
that no one wants to hear.

super short -- rain song

as you probably could tell, the last two posts were my take on magnetic poetry, where I look at the words for inspiration rather than actually using only those words... BUT I'll take a stab at the official magnetic poetry now!!

The pure peace of spring --
Behold, the stones murmuring harmony,
and the rain with a song of rivers.

the sun watches us in our sweet drunken dream

the sun watches us
in our sweet drunken dream
delirious in spirit
soaring through the mist
shining shadows on the moon

shallow

fools feast with fiery eyes
upon the shell a ghost has left.
a picture without the essence of life,
aping the essence that left the shell.

wonders and faults

Sometimes, I zone out and think about why is it that when others understand something in class after a second's thinking time, I have to take a minute.

Sometimes, I see people dancing and wonder why is it that when they look so cool, I look like a fished-up sardine gasping for its last breath on a boat deck.

Sometimes, I hear passersby in the hallways saying hello to friends, and I wonder why I can't even muster a simple hi.

Sometimes, I wonder how some people can paint a masterpiece with words that seem to flow effortlessly from their mouths and pens while I have to think for such a long time before some scum comes out like the last dregs of a toothpaste tube.

Sometimes, in ballet, I wonder if my instructors have lowered their standards for me, praising me at every turn and never giving me any more corrections anymore like they do to everyone else.

Sometimes, when I see drawings by others, I wonder why their styles are so stable and so wonderful, while I can't even draw a human correctly.

Sometimes, I can't fall asleep and I wonder why, when everyone else around me is so marvelous, why, oh why, I can't be as good as them, or why I'm not satisfied with myself.

And to the last one, I can't find a good answer, because then I wonder why I am comparing myself to others as a way of judging success. Then the wondering goes on, and I wonder why I don't have the confidence to believe in myself. I wonder why I need confirmation of my ability from others. I wonder why I never believe them when they say I'm fine. Or amazing.

Sometimes I even wonder why I look so absolutely horrendous, and why everyone else always looks so perfect. Then I remember those nights in front of the bathroom mirror, where I was so very proud to be in my skin, where I knew from deep within that I was and still am beautiful. Truly beautiful, in my own way.

Then, finally, I realize that this cycle of wondering will continue. That this discouraging voice will always be in my head. It will shapeshift in accordance to society's standards. It will change as I grow older, as my perspective changes. Though in reality, this voice may be small, it can sometimes be so blaringly loud that it can't be ignored.

I will never be perfect, but I will also always be perfect in my own way. I don't need to be completely satisfied with myself. I just need to know that I will always be able to grow.

The whole world may not be in my hands, but my world is in my hands. It's what I'll make of the world around me and what I'll make into my own world that matters.

whoops

sorry darlings
that came out of nowhere
here's something else, because why not?
i've been arguing with myself
i wasn't sure whether or not i should post this
but since my brain is fried
and apparently can't think of anything light
here you go, loves


Goad me to madness, won't you?
Let the cold blue blade taunt me,
Let it nestle between my costals and take my breath away,
Here it lies next to me, in its temporary sheath,
Let my hand guide it to its forever home,
Buried deep in my chest.

a raw explosion

WAVES OF MEMORY AND TIDES OF EMOTION HIT ME AND BLIND ME AND DRIVE ME INTO A FRENZIED FROTHING LIKE A WAVE BREAKING ON THE JAGGED ROCKS OF A CLIFF

whirlwind

fiery fronds frisk along the ink-black asphalt,
freezing now, flying then, waltzing with the wind.
leaves pulled in, caught in a febrile tarantella,
one second spinning as one,
the next, cast out and vile to the touch of the breeze.

one leaf, two leaves, three leaves, then a branch,
caught in the whirlwind:
a gentle solo,
whipped into a maddened masquerade,
blazing maple gowns and aspen frocks ablaze,
rising above the treetops,
sweeping from the cul-de-sac out to the avenue,
along the black tar to the rising moon.

swirling cyclone,
grasping all in its way,
embracing all,
then banishing all from sight,
not choosing, yet it's all or nothing.

push away, pull back.
tides of the whirlwind
leave perplexed leaves in its wake,
snapped out of their hypnotic waltz,
desperate for another frenzied dance,
standing still, then trembling to fill the void the gale had torn.

adagio in autumn

I do quite regret not taking pictures, although I don't think digital photos could have served it justice~

a step back in time -- photo from 2014

Walking through a quiet neighborhood in a crisp autumn evening, I can't help but notice the blue gradient of the sky above and the moon scintillating shyly near the horizon, but a small sliver of her full, glowing complexion. Wisps of periwinkle clouds sweep gently across the navy blue, and a soft breeze teases the tips of the trees, rustling the leaves in its path. Crickets chirrup in unison, and the occasional wise, old, katydid interrupts with a tsk-tsk, disapproving of the fresh-faced world around it. The vacant street tapers to a point as it leads over a slope, and warm lights flank the jet-black asphalt. Gazing up at me from the foot of the hill, the city is a coruscating kaleidoscope of pumpkin, amber, and crimson, winking at me, daring me to soar over its busy avenues in a single sweeping scan. Overwhelmed by the subtle beauty of nature colliding with humanity, As the wind intensifies, swirling around me, lifting a few stray leaves into a swishing waltz, I close my eyes and sway along, in harmony with my surroundings. With my sight taken away, my other senses strengthen. My fingertips pulse as the energy in the air shifts. The wind enters my mind and sweeps my scattered thoughts, allowing me to focus on everything and nothing simultaneously. An earthy scent wafts its way into my mental scenery, and the leaves from above offer a small whiff of the first carpet of fallen fronds yet to be woven by nature herself. A warm, fulfilling darkness slowly blankets the neighborhood, but as I open my eyes, blues and golds flood my vision further enhanced by the cantata softly playing around me.

capturing infinity

shoutout to my amazing math buddy annabelle for helping me stay alive through countless hours of tedium...

We can dance,
waltz with the breeze.

Catch the fireflies,
and set them all free.

We can run along the horizon,
'til we reach the sea.

Seize the sunset,
and splatter red, blue, gold streaks across the sky.

But we can never capture infinity,
the step ahead of you is the end.
Yet there's always something in front of you,
always... and forever running free.

cinderellen?

Let's get one thing straight -- I absolutely abhor this Prince Charming, but now I'm stuck with him for the rest of my life.

Are you confused? Because so was I when I was dragged forcefully away from my loving foster mother.

Ella and I were born as identical twins, and when I say identical, I really mean... identical.

Well, at least physically... It also didn't help that our mother and father decided to name us Ella and Ellen. Let me tell you, we couldn't be any more different. Don't get me wrong -- we were in cahoots with each other and loved each other very much, but our personalities have major differences.

As a child, I was clumsy and lacked the elegance Ella had, while she was perfect in my parents' eyes. They loved us both, but when it came to social outings, I was to stay away from them in case I caused a major catastrophe and watch from afar as they flaunted my twin sister's talents and looks. Her dresses were always so much better than mine, but I couldn't hate her because she was just too kind. I honestly love her so much, and she loves me, too. Sometimes, she would give me some of her dresses to wear, but to be honest, I loved wearing those things called jumpsuits. In my mind, they were just as elegant as those twirling gowns, but obviously, since society simply would not accept a woman wearing any type of pants, I wasn't really allowed to wear them. 

After Mother died, Father was bereft until he finally found that monster of a stepmother. While I ran away and lived with a foster mother whom I love dearly, and I know for a fact that she loves me just as much, Ella was too obedient to follow me, so she was stuck being the underdog. Day in and day out, she sent me messages with doves, despairing, but hopeful that one day she would be able to lead a better life. I always wrote back, comforting her, reassuring her that her good deeds would one day be returned to her.

Little did I know that that would have happened, if only Prince Charming and his assistants weren't so dimwitted.

Night after night, Ella gushed on and on about the balls and the love of her life, thanking her fairy godmother and always wishing that I was there along with her. She was so enchanted by this turn of events, and I couldn't help but also experience them through her writings to me. That is, until she lost her shoe on the last night. Her tear marks blotted the ink, and little circles of wrinkles were scattered across the parchment as she lamented that would never see him again. When news arrived that dear Prince Charming was riding around the kingdom to find his mysterious love, Ella once again gushed and hoped and dreamed so much that I feared she would be lost among the stars forever. Her happiness was infectious; I fueled her excitement, sure that they would soon be reunited.

However, in one fell swoop, everything went wrong. Our house happened to be before Ella's on the Prince's route around the kingdom. My foster mother, ever my supporter, encouraged me to try it on, just for kicks. I don't know where our fairy godmother's spell went wrong, but the shoe slipped on and fit perfectly, and I instantly remembered Ella's rant about how surprisingly comfortable her crystal heels were. Before even double checking, Charming picked me up, spun me around, and kissed me hard right on the lips. Feeling disgusted and violated, I pranced away with only one shoe on, since I obviously didn't have the other. When I tried to inform him of this fact, he blew it off and kissed me passionately once again. I couldn't exactly fight him; after all, he was a prince, and I but another of his subjects, but definitely not who he thought I was. I "giggled," swiping furiously at my lips in a futile attempt to erase the memory of this violation. As we stepped out of the house, I could barely eke out a fake smile and wave to the crowd in the streets. On the ride back to his castle, I tried as hard as I could to convince him that it was my twin sister, even going so far as to make him turn back, saying that I had forgotten a precious possession of mine to show him the letters Ella had written to me. Nothing seemed to faze the love-blind fool, and I couldn't do anything except call a dove and send it to my poor sister.

Weeks went by, and families came in a constant stream, each claiming that I was not his true love, and that their daughter was in fact the one whom he was so infatuated with. Yes, even those who had tried on the shoe. Thankfully, he wasn't idiotic enough to waste time with those who didn't look like me or Ella. As a last attempt to help my sister, I sent for Ella and organized a meeting for the Prince and her, but he refused to believe that she was the one he truly loved.

The wedding passed, a terribly garish deformity in my painting of memory. Soon, I was officially the crown princess, and there was nothing I could do. As I came to know Prince Charming better, I simply hated him more. I don't know how he managed to seem intelligent during the ball, but I think that he purged his mind of all that he had learned in preparation for that fete. He had a childish innocence which some could see as charming, but I simply saw it as a fatal flaw in a to-be king. Not only that, but he obviously also rushed into making decisions and completely skipped over any details.

Now, I feel as if I am that overly exasperated mother, having to correct her child at every turn, and what makes matters worse is that I don't have a millionth of the patience that Ella has. I'm terribly sorry, Ella, wherever you may be. If only I could switch places with her without this overly protective idiot realizing... I would even work for her stepfamily if it meant escaping this moronic prince and allowing my twin the happiness she deserves.

opus no.1, foul weather

the language of dreams
a symphony in my heart
beat by beat
I believed we'd never part
then it stopped --
and the rain crashed to an end
and then the garish sun shone again

darkness and beauty

black beauty...
the death of a rose,
a shadow on the moon,
crimson pearls of blood suspended in midair.

remember when time still ran on light feet
flanked by angels stretching their wings?



// I forgot to say that I found the magnetic poetry site on unadorned gifts, an amazing blog by an amazing person