like a complex organism. form
jasper from lily &
a rainbow from a glass prism.
from a wishing well, dive in & splash.
to something with a bill & escape
with the wind, far from whatever you see below.
fly like the dust
let your bald head cave in to an eagle’s nest – an epitome
of the ethreal, make it real
that shadowed visage of a black bird
make it yours. steal it from someone’s theory
& turn this world to your notion.
grasp that single thread, hold on to it;
find the plane at the border and float, will ya.
create your pool from the mirage
& hope it goes well.
We’re always too focused on making others “the right ones”; always imagining that “the right person” would do this and not do that. Do we ever ask ourselves if “we” are the right ones to certain people. Always seeing things from “your” perspective can mar your view of others.
We always want to find that “perfect person” for ourselves. Have you asked yourself if you’re perfect enough for who you’re looking for. Humans will always be selfish, the way I see things. It’s not bad to want good stuff; but are you good enough to earn it? Work on yourself before searching for one you think is “perfect for you”;
then you won’t have to look for the “right ones”. If you don’t deserve one, you simply won’t get one. It’s not called Karma for nothing. Life isn’t unfair, humans just make it seem so. They’re the ones responsible for how awful this world turned out: even God knows that. Fix yourself, before you go about searching for an already fixed and perfected person. It’s as simple as that.
We plan things for “ourselves”, not others. When other people’s plans get it the way, it technically disrupts ours. Things can always go the way we planned if we plan for the circumstances surrounding other people as well. I think though 🤷, I could be wrong. Besides, I’m human.
It’s an idea gotten from someone though.
is an act i’m used to.
it stretches, with each step, never
accepts to swallow my feet despite
so many times
to go beyond my breath; beyond atlantis:
watch a land fall
beneath the underwater
and take my body with him.
it stretches its skin,
lets my feet build a path, like chakra
builds on one
who never knew she could
walk on water.
zip up your
white sepulcher, like
the wedding dress; seal it with the red signet ring,
& send out
to the earth.
the curse placed on us
has been the constant reminder that the wind
still exists; that there’s a whisper that’s waiting
to pass on my message,
without a backward glance.
your handwriting i so wanted to imitate,
is teaching me to write an afterlife, back to the dust,
back to the wind,
back to God;
from me to you.
you call me father
my cathedral’s not far
my definition of love has always been
still you claim
to be my son.
can you die?
can you let me kill you?
can you give a sacrifice
without letting your eyes burn
the nightmare of the carcass before you?
can you love like me?
you just call me father
my cathedral’s not far
sometimes the day isn’t as happy as…
he thrusts in you, hard – pain ; even kills you
more than darkness would, more than fear
makes you surrender
so you don’t ever forget
who’s in charge, who makes you see
all your effing failures correctly.
and those times, the night’s the only friend
you could cry to.
From Plato’s definition, “love is a serious mental disease”; describing a romantic love.
black hollow eyes
and red irises dance wildly
waltz style, two by two in seven times two, i second that. gold darkness, tongues licking, flares
hands locked, and satisfied fingers.
naked hot bloody eaten
excuse my french. i’m drunk and torn from red roses, my tongue’s occupied
with two many breathss
both his and mine; locking, interlacing and drinking scarlet hearts.
no interjections, flat out flattery, no tongues no lies.
but i’m watching myself drown in my lover’s liquor cave, our heartbeats reverberating, a feeling i can’t understand or explain
in a rather untimely spell too hard, i fell
to insanity, luckily no bruises, no bleeding
inside of me. i’m safe, in his eyes. those eyes.
i’m tainted? no, untainted
no regrets. nonetheless, i know too well
when a pair of hearts beat, they’re alive.
I see someone frozen,
where my body lays carefully embalmed
waiting for my grandchildren to pick up the weeds,
burn an incense
and call out for protection, a prepaid harvest,
the way the ears pick up the lyrics of a withered song [one by one, till all that’s left is the East wind of a once beautiful woman] and lets that fire burn them alive.
Her grandson’s eating songpyeon the way her mind ate her
till she became the weed everyone wanted to throw away
from her father’s grave.
“…you cannot truly love another until you know how to love yourself.”
one. two. three.
like flowers withered in the middle of a baking summer a decade ago though. i love her.
i breezed through it
like the east wind; learned of wabi-sabi pottery my vitreous face and body.
i learned to weave lacquer in my skin play with broken chords in an opera and smile because i love her.
there’s this silence in the opera house because the audience want more but i can’t give perfect notes. besides
the chords aren’t broken eyes are and thoughts break
it’s similar to ceramics. leave her alone, i love her.
i stare at the mirror, at who i used to be; touching places the human eyes refuse to see smiling at how i’ve fallen
for a special clay pot
my aesthetic self.