i finally knew

the scope
of my world

it is only as big
as the days and nights
within the window panes

i will not dive into it
nor can i run away
from the everyday changing
of lighting

do not
let me escape
this floating scent of alcohol berries
under my throat

i wish you would
hold me down
and kiss me until my eyes bleed

you at seven in the afternoon
left me in some sort of nonsensical dream
i have learned to make myself

by sitting here
watching the night slowly
disguising the color of my skin
what is its true color will i ever know

i have given in
to the light
and the lack of it
so i could get along with time

my heart and soul
are given to you
i only need to keep this numbness
underneath my eyelids

you keep
inside the same clothing drawer
where your medicine bottles scatter
the gift she gave you

what remains of the life you had before me
and the love you had before me
or perhaps
you still do

i only have my
the temporary escape
as cheap as a six-pack of mood-cooler

the windows of the house at the street’s end
were already lit
i wonder what kind of stories
are going on behind them

do they read like mine
feel like mine
do they make somebody cry

there are so many things i do not know
where we are
where we are going
where we are meant to be

it is here
the dark
that will soon reunite me with
my lonely nightmares

Mar 20, 2011


letter to you who cried because i was cold

that day, the world was beautiful because of you,
but i, long before the dawn, knew there would be no hope
in staying, and yes, i think you are my world
when i am with you. but that is not the point,
that is not the point at all. the origin of our feelings
had nothing to do with where we were going,
nothing to do with the saddest of days and nights,
and the tears that we shed at the wrong times,
and the loving words we spoke at the few times
when we thought we were in love. there were moments
and there were others. i could not carry you at all times
in my conscience. do you understand? i do not hate you, no,
it is quite the contrary. much so quite the contrary.
i do not need anybody else in the name of fairness
and common sense. but i do want you. times when i
thought everything was coming to an end i
thought of you, wanting to rush to you and say
“i love you” exactly how i used to wish someone,
just one, only one, would say it to me.
but the current of life and this shameful desire to live
always dragged me back, not letting me leave.

i do not mean to make you wait until the lights go off
to bare my soul to you,
to overwhelm you with undivided attention
(not the kind i have always given you in our presence,
but one that gives you the strongest sense of eternity,
the only time when death loses its charm and power.)
i do not mean to bring those tears upon your eyes.
but grief makes a person whom he is
while happiness makes him whom he thinks he wants to be.
are you whom you want to be? are you when i am holding you tight
in my arms, hearing my breath pacing against your heartbeats?

when i am with you
i am not whom i am or whom i want to be
but exactly what i must be if life is real, and death is also real,
and nothing else matters but the truth of you.

you asked me with tears down at your throat how i felt about you
how i truly felt about you, not how i thought you would want to be perceived. so here it is.
i am sorry that there are and always will be
disappointments. but disappointments, more often than not,
are so much needed for us not to lose touch with our truest feelings,
don’t you think?



Feb 26, 2011

Narcissistic Poet


“why can you spend so much time
writing all this sappy bullcrap
but cannot study hard
to get good

math teacher, senior high school.-
“why do you write such good poetry
but suck so bad
at math?”

acquantainces/maybe friends, anygradeinanyschool.-
your poetry sounds pretty good
i just
don’t understand
what you are trying
to say.”

writing instructor, free elective course, college.-
“your poetry is really good
for someone whose first language is
not english.”

“you are good at writing poetry,
but besides that,
you just seem clueless
most of the time
you cannot hear
what i say
nor can you understand
much of it.
it seems like
you are lost
in your own world,
have conversation with me
in your head.”

i want to blame all these people
for making me think
i must be really good
at poetry
for i hardly am
in anything else
that actually

not to take myself too seriously
Feb 18, 2011