…That Is Why I Write (Poem #12)

I’ve forgotten how to look at the sky
to separate the clouds
and greet birds as they pass by.

I’ve lost my essence
in a stack of hay
its edges shaper than a needle’s
forgotten and thrown away.

I’ve given up on dreaming
and on the restful sleep that it allows
for if they still persist
I don’t think I’d want to come back around.

I’m a kite without a string
or a string without its kite
the whole of me still incomplete
maybe that is why I write.

Drawing Breath (Poem #11)

The sun does down,
the moon dips.
The clouds scatter
while the birds
chase trees to sit.

The rivers tell a tale
of how fast they run.
The roots never whine
of being under and done.
The flower blossoms,
the soil gets stronger.
The winds race
and the hills embrace.

What’s left is how
they choose to grow.
What matters is how
unready they take the fall.
Unexpectedly, there’s more to come.

So rise with gratitude
only to fall without a sigh.
So be yourself
and imitate
the nature’s way of life.

Wicked Masks We Wear (Poem #10)

How’s the pain?
The gain.
The vain.
Of trying,
maybe not.
Of failing,
but how?

What a wicked mask to wear.
Another right you make wrong.
You’re done
maybe then.
You’re here
sometimes then?

Thanks to you
you’ve come this far.
Struggling for breath
fighting the scars.
Don’t let them stay.
Never mistake its charm.
For it is what it is
that’s how you’ve learned to calm.

Uninterruptible Awakening (Poem #9)

Uninterruptible awakening
the clarity has made
our wisdom go dark.
What was yesterday
will be our tomorrow,
but what’s today
is the purest moment we have.

Don’t let what frightens
you let you sleep
you must stay awake.
Forge your name
with tears and blood
until your veins feel lost.

Tired is for the weak
haven’t you heard them scream?

Surviving comes easy,
but this feels forced
you feel trapped
and you don’t
find your reality.

Complete The Circle (Poem #8)

Expression I have long considered mortal and short-lived.
I have craved withdrawal from myself as much as
I have struggled to contract my wants.

Now, I demand the pictures that frame me small.
I draw from the imagination that forces me to see the truth.
Pure everything till my ends allow.

I choose to complete the circle.
Not because I’m alone, angry, or powerless.
Because the things that once existed no longer fit to make me brave.

It is the beginning of the end of my romance.
I drown with a raging desire for fantasy
with a reality that doesn’t understand my love.

A love so kind and filled with unanimity that
my identity touches a crack on a spotless land.
A stream in the middle of nowhere;
flowing in directions that have no boundaries to fill.

To animate this relationship with myself,
I must expand my horizons and look beyond finite.
Instead of standing under the glass myself to learn my intricacies,
I must fall under the millions that shine over me.

Lay under the fire, feel the burn, and become a subject of stillness
to comfort the role that society illustrates.
How many times this sentiment arises and
how many times do I blink and lose sight of it all?

This will make me strong. Make me live. Make me affect.
Yes, these emotions are brief,
but night comes and the pain makes it last forever.

Be Her Shadow (Poem #7)

It’s not easy to raise a girl. She’s fierce. She’s perceptive. She’ll learn the ways of life by how you treat her and how you do not. So let it all go and be her shadow. That’s the only thing you can do.

. . .

Be her shadow.
Raise her mind.
You won’t know until you do
because she’s little known
to her ways of life.

Don’t mistake your anger for love
that’s not the dress up she knows.
Down the road,
she’ll say yes from your no
she’ll be from your all that you weren’t
that’s just how she grows.

Don’t give her playthings dressed up and fair
that’ll make her believe
she’s not as good as for such flair.
Encourage her a talent
whatever it may be.

Don’t tell her what isn’t hers
rather teach her to dream.

You don’t make her a believer,
you make her wise-
wise enough to say what is,
strong to not string along lies

Perhaps, she’ll never be like you
and why would she?
She’s a part of nature-
like a leaf that falls from a tree.

A Dark Alleyway (Poem #6)

What do you see when you walk down a dark alleyway? Do you see only the wreckage or do you see the path?

. . .

A dark alleyway,
you are so fated,
but not by yourself.

Look around you,
I beg you to see,
all those chains
telling you not to and to be;
telling you to breathe,
telling you to stab,
every emotion you possess.
All the worldliness you believe.

Don’t look away now,
you know you’re dragged.
All that you felt,
has not been riddled.
You’re on display,
in that dark alleyway,
but you don’t know it yet.

For your soul is alive,
still lifeless.

Mirror Mirror (Poem #5)

If it’s in the mirror you’re looking at, what do you see? Do you see flames or do you see yourself as free?

. . .

Mirror mirror on the wall
like frames set up
to take the fall
for all the crimes you committed
for all those you didn’t
standing against a wall now
the edges as sharp as your commitments.

Mirror mirror on the wall
like prisoners lined up for the fall
crumpled like pages
temptations ahoy
scaled to seem perfect
but no matter what you live for
it’s always the image
the one you once used as a toy.

That Sweet Talk (Poem #4)

Who has written the possibility of what is taught is understood is materialized, every time? On the spontaneity of false notions, the fatalistic desire of the damnable, and everything leading up to that sweet talk we happen to speak to ourselves at least once in our lifetime against self-criticism and faith. Maybe, just maybe, what is taught is never completely understood, but is still materialized, all the time.

. . .

That sweet talk
to frustrate me
to provoke me
into complete destruction.

That sweet talk
of times ahead
with weapons of my past
only to numb me of my head.

That sweet talk
of memorable experiences
that often lead to disasters
let’s just call them strange incidences.

That sweet talk
of fighting my demons
of avenging from self
in the name of freedom.

That sweet talk
turning tides every season
and with courage
it’s only made from my hidden treason.

Life Is A Tale (Poem #3)

Are you struggling to survive? Do you count your days or do you make your days count? Life isn’t an answer, but a tale with many answers for each one of us, different as night and day, but still so closely imbued on each other.

. . .

You win
you loose
you grow
you choose.

It isn’t the rules
it isn’t the conditions
it is something
it is made out of small decisions.

They say
they judge
they stare but
they don’t care as much.

Stop resisting the change
stop locking your frame
stop to start from scratch
stop to realize that life isn’t just about the fame.

Define life by living it
define courage by surviving it
define beauty by acceptance
define ambition by practice and persistence.

Life is a tale
and now you understand its chapters
turning pages finger to finger
maybe even skipping a few for answers
you’ll find passion
as you will grief
tell me what you’ve read
because the book is still void
for it is written by your forbearance.