the first and the last.

i am not the first
to wish that you were here enjoying life (preferably, with me)
to treasure your smile like it’s the most precious thing i’ve ever seen
and how if your eyes fail to smile, too, something is terribly wrong
to imagine an alternate life where you and i
existed together in more ways than one

i am sorry.
i suppose that you do not understand that i do not wish
to taste your unchapped lips
to touch every part of you
to live in an alternate life where you and i
were intimate together in more ways than one

you are lovable in more ways than one
but i may be the first to say
that i
i only wish to witness your smile
i only crave the safe reassurance
that you so freely exude
is it wrong, though
to want you to hold me like nothing is terribly wrong
every once in a blue moon, only if you feel like it

i am not the first to crave
your touch, your gaze
but if only you would treat me as if
i were the furthest thing from invisible
may i be the first to say
“i would be content.”



i just need life to slow down
i’d be okay, even if it doesn’t stop completely
just declare that it will slow down soon 
because it’s panic-inducing, the speed at which time currently flies by
so tell it to slow down, okay?

rambles from school, pt 1

Love is not an easy concept to grasp, because it’s not just a concept – everyone defines it a little different. It’s an emotion, or an action, or physical pleasure. Something I didn’t even consider until recently is that love is not capable of being confined to just one definition. To some people, it is one thing, while to others, it is totally different.

As a child, all I knew was familial love; there was also “parents’ love” – subtly romantic, longsuffering, and steady – but that was for adults. I did not dwell on the qualities love, much less on how I would define them. Growing older, however, as I start to revise and realize my own outlooks on various subjects, love is much more elusive than I originally thought. It is not straightforward anymore; rather, it’s like the color black. Some people say it qualifies as a color, some claim it does not. Some think that it’s all one color and anything else is grey that borders on black, but does not count as “real” black; some see different shades to bright colors combined. There is no one, universally-agreed-upon definition, because too many people see too many things.

Growing up, I have witnessed too many things to maintain one definition. Divorce, when two people who used to claim to love each other separate permanently. Immaturity, when one or more parties involved do not understand that loving each other, in any way, supposedly means that the people involved should care enough to work out their differences despite the disagreement. Martyrdom, even the sort that does not refer to death – one person lets another, or more than one, stomp over them because if that’s what the second party wants, the first should oblige, right?

Love cannot be contained by one human. It is too nuanced, too variable, to stand by just one definition. It is not just familial or just romantic. The least we can do is understand that.

you’re a barnacle-covered hunk of metal (surprise!)

there is a poetry in the risk of bending reality to fit your overall mood; there is a reckless rhyme to the fact that you do not and shall not gift a second thought to your own abandon.

there is a certain meter, specific rules, and you feel no other desire toward them except a craving to break every single one.

longing sickens you, because there is nothing – nothing – you would rather do than break free

from yourself.

your tongue aches to twist words into braided structure / your head pounds with the puzzle of peaceful chaos / your heart beats exponentially faster because you are alive but removed from yourself

sails are necessary to a ship; this is widely-known fact. reckless apathy is your sail, so that when the time comes, there will be no mourning. there will be no weakness in sensitivity, because apathetic calm is optimal, is it not?

release yourself. remove yourself. wreck yourself.

these steps have never tempted you more than

it is only the affirmation that others think about you, sometimes, that pulls you back. the alleged care is too much to process, but maybe you let yourself think in your rare weak moments that someone you care about, reciprocates.

so you attempt to forget. you suppress and repress until you can remember things, but nothing you used to consider inconsequential.

you quickly realize that forgetting the details was the worst choice for you, in this cursed state. in forgetting them, you sever any remainder of any anchor you’ve ever known–

because what is your anchor, if not them?

in forgetting them, you’ve freed yourself

in freedom, you’ve lost yourself

(who knew that anchors were the most important component to a ship?)

relationships are hard, guys

we haven’t talked in quite some time
how are you, ex friend of mine?
have you
accomplished everything you wanted?
are you free now or are you still haunted
by your own personal brand of ghosts?

you don’t remember True Me, I bet
do you even remember the first time we met?
have you
conquered your demons yet?
does it ever really matter?

is there a normal ever established
between two people? or more.
i wish i knew, i wish i cared
about the fact that you didn’t even dare
to get close enough to find out
to consider me enough to find out.

“maybe you don’t determine your own worth, after all.”

these are the days that I wonder –
why can’t you see how much I am not?

why don’t you see all the insuffiencies of mine?
it’s been a long time now since I crossed the line
the border between ‘to vent’ and ‘to whine’
and not for the best.

why don’t you see that I can’t unsee
all the flaws that make up me?
‘worthless’ is me summed up logically
and not for the best.

plate of anxiety, coming right up
with a side of burden-in-a-cup
sip of sensitive and impatient sup
it isn’t the best.

and all these descriptions sit precariously
are they accurate or just self-pity?
I fear I’ll never know which they be
that’s not for the best.

so you listen, you listen! with barely a comment
listen to the rambling of the broken-but-not-bent
the girl who’s compassionate but not content
she’s not at her best.

so you listen!
you listen.

precious, loved, and worthwhile
honest compliments you heap in a pile
overwhelm her, consume her, with your while
one of the things that you do best.

choices are what is key here
make a choice, avoid a tear
but still worry about who is dear

love and love and love and more
care is what makes up your core
out and out and out you pour
some of the things that you do best.

these are the days that you wonder –
why can’t I see how much I am?