walked with a ghost and you’re now here.


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I remembered curling into your voice
what rolled out your tongue and grew in sync with my thoughts
I let them swim over me and slumbered on

It was when
I was building a box, one that could crumble when she moved a finger
I was folding cranes, ones that I blew whispers in even knowing it would weigh them down
I was blowing bubbles, huffing and puffing like she was the three little pigs
And even though till now I still have not got my hands around

It was when
I was painting my eyes with white and brown, till they were like my puddles reflecting mine
I was digging a time capsule into her, till I fell into the rabbit hole
Down down I went,
till she dropped the clock and all minutes and seconds pasted were not time

You came along and knitted a strings of comfort
Passed down sunshine and warmth of a foreign heart
Though for some time, but like the red queen’s cards
i was lifted, like upon a dragon and inside I fluttered like the mad hater’s dance
You handed me the mirror
then whispered to my ears
then show me that the one inside was not me

but here I stand now
all thanks to the warmth that rolled out your tongue once upon a time

 

 

artwork

inspired by Tegan & Sara.

the latte art. 

Lee-kyutae3

it looked like stardust
millions and billions light years apart
so you swirled it like a latte with double shots of warm milk
and you stared at the flower carefully poured into melting into nothingness
you tried to vision yourself as van gogh or pollock

but you’re not, and that coffee was simply espresso with foam waiting to die out into extinction.

artworks: Lee Kyutae

the moon chasing the sun.

illustration by Maurice Sapiro : lighthouse in a storm

let the midnight roll in
drop the weight of a hundred
and possibly the thousands stars
you’ve tried to name

pause the chase of milk ways
comfort those galaxy like, black and blue
patches of galaxy bruised on your knees
as you crawled your way
through the endless tunnel

let the silence swim in
waves after waves
and you no longer need to paddle
as the cooling sea salt blows its’ breathe
leaving you floating on a boat of gentleness
and

an

n

and
nothing but the breeze kissing your ear
as if you’ve hidden, buried yourself
in one of those mesmerising, moonshined
seashell you put against your ear
once you were younger, and the world was enormous

it’s all fine now
don’t hesitate or bite your already chipped lips
again when you witness another
and another train of crowded shadows
swarmed with chatter and shouts
wash you by.

for once, allow yourself be part of the scenery
the moving trees gone in a blink of an eyes
where one could never grab on to you long enough
to see the history written on your skin

and that’s fine.
the moon will still shine
and the midnight shall chase away the sun
and the jet black will brighten
those stars that seemed so dim.
and you will see the sun again, again and it will never end.

‘Point B’ by Sarah Kay

‘Mami, the label of someone that I used to regard
as the most familiar stranger’
And before I throw out my first and not last strings of words about my mom.
A big happy mother (mami)’s day to every amazing women out there – may today be as loving as usual, if not, more.
so here it is, one of my biggest inspiration in this poetry journal: ‘Point B’ by Sarah Kay.

“If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.

And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”

But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.

I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.

You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”

Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.”

a white lie. 

white lies are not better facing you to tell you a partial dishonesty
glued my lips together
and the floor became a shelter
my eyes could not separate from gravity
they wandered on the cold marble tiles
my words sound defenseless
I knew lying for whatever reason was
no excuse to be
empty words only break upon

a tie, a bond and the thousand floors
of foundation we ve built over time
there should be no existence
of a white lie
for it would only bring threads of guilt
and the continuous waves of blame
so huge that it engulfs the entire being
and you won’t know how to surface
without feeling colors burning
and feeling more desperate than ever

I need your arms as my shades
simply to engulf me in the dark night
that warm me of home
warmth to stitch
warmth to heal.