There's a thought in my brain. I know that it's there. On occasions, it comes front and center. Through the chaos of my daily activities, during moments where I simply stop moving, the thought comes. At the tip of my brain, it's not words. It's an action followed by realizations. Nothing matters, but then it… Continue reading Diary #1
Category: Poetry
I dream of
I dream of golden cities Where my house is The largest tower above glistening Swimming pools and recently Watered tomatoes, watermelon And kale. Dark rooms with single windows Pale white creatures beckoning me To come outside with my newly Plucked fruit. Bridges that are built high Connecting one foggy city, Chicago, to New York. The… Continue reading I dream of
By My Side
One day at a time You're by my side In silence surrounded by so much noise on the outside From sunup to sundown I've gotten use to your presence. There's no need for constant touches, but intimacy is what I crave. By my side, I rest under your light breathing. By my side, I ponder… Continue reading By My Side
Mixed Salad, Wet Lotus and Bedtime Tea
It started with mixed salad over our usual five dollar box from the local fast food joint. Combined with a bottle of water and her face would shine. The next day she appeared to me coated in pink lotus drenched in watermelons and cream. My nose tingled at the fragrance. It was pungent but in… Continue reading Mixed Salad, Wet Lotus and Bedtime Tea
The Heart Broken Woman
Lately I have been going outside to do some writing and I witness a horrible moment. A woman found out her spouse was with another woman. The pain of being heartbroken is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but it's not a pain. A pain is a sense that comes and goes within seconds, but an ache last for hours, days, years, maybe even eternity. I hope the woman feels better and doesn't allow the scars to draw her heart from her sleeve.
Lovers, Perfect/Imperfection
My lover is not what I expected him to be. Instead of a chiseled physique, I get a sloth who refuses to release it’s grasp from me. His hair is like bristle of an overused broom. Sometimes I watch him chew on leftovers like a moose. You may ask “why am I with him if… Continue reading Lovers, Perfect/Imperfection