Best thing that can happen

To writers and poets

It’ll crush their heart

And feed their stomach


What I need

Sometimes all I want
Is a handful of solitude
A little corner space
Where my mind can race
And I am not asked
What am I writing?
What am I painting?
No enunciated judgement
Greeting my ears
Just me and my tanhai
A place, just a place
Where in words I bleed
And this bleeding
Is just what I need




Tanhai = loneliness


“Do not love me, for I am not good inside,

Do not love me, for I may be full of pride.

Do not bestow me with warmth I cannot return,

Undeserving, your precious love I cannot earn.”

She stared at her feet,

His eyes, she could not meet.

He relished the sight in front of him,

And spilled his heart on a whim.

“My lady, my love, the dame of my dreams,

Of our love and yourself, you are mistaken it seems.

Never forget, will I, the first time you said my name,

Never forget, will I, your sigh when you felt the same.

Never forget, will I, your delicate breath upon my skin,

O’ lady, be my undoing, my only sin.”

She thought back to a time she’d assumed love was a curse,

But in his galaxy-like eyes she saw it, all hers.

Before she could deny, he pulled her closer by her hips,

And kissed his lady full in the lips.

Her rigid posture melted in his arms,

Because wounds can be healed with a love that warms.


Something kind of experimental that I wrote. 🙂


There’s something I find deeply satisfying about acknowledging mortality.

The delicious color red of the salty water rushing through my arteries is beautiful.

Those small undefinable moments… Lying on the ultrasound bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the doctor say, “Pancreas – Okay. Gallbladder – Okay. Liver–“, I’d felt so human. Even through my nervousness I smiled and my mind bicycled back to forgotten classrooms and voices teaching us of organs, and the vivid diagrams in our textbooks.

I’m human!

How silly. How true. How lovely.

When a needle draws blood from my veins, that looking away and clutching my sister’s hand tightly, then meekly stealing a glance at the syringe, it’s beautiful.


I’m smaller than a speck in eternity’s vortex.

I’m mortal, and it’s beautiful.


Yellow, yellow, yellow, autumn! Screamed her hat from her heart’s bottom.

Smoke, smoke, smoke, up went her lungs, in a satisfaction only she could feel.

Stared I, at her self-procured image of self-subjugation

Her just-blue eyes tore at me from above the lowered glasses

Contrasting gaze, midst her lustrous ginger hair, play mate of the wind

Stranger. Complete strangers, we. I’ve seen her. But hasn’t seen me, she.

Her face lingers on in my mind, and I cannot figure why.

Just a photo of a woman I saw, while strolling by.




Inspired from this photo.