Back to Your Roots.

a narrow-minded luddite who preferred pens and parchment 

could never imagine the amount of destruction a poet could hold in his hands. 

the power of words strong enough to efface a name or memory from one's soul. 

to efface the words on the parchment and ingrain them into subconsciousness, 

as subconsciously, the poet's words will become your words too.

and then there will be no separation from material fiction 

and the facts your mind produces to convince you that everything 

is alright. 

everything is perfectly, normal. 

and convenient recollection will allow you to recollect the words 

that flow so effortlessly. the power of the words seeping in 

like dark tendrils of ink, coiling around and around and embracing you, 

submerging you. 

and you will embrace it too. 

like they say, knowledge is power.

you have no idea.

Giving Dreams.

Her words crowd the streets with soft pirouettes 

and faint, blushing roses brushed up the side 

of lonely street lamps.

A reflection of everything I've abandoned.

I am selfish, but I loved her.

With reckless abandon, and a drowning heart,

all I could do was float around aimlessly,

like a message in a bottle, anonymous to hopeful

and eager. 

And all she can blame me for is that, 

I couldn't bear to stay away,

Blame the winds, sweetheart,

and destiny too. 

But I will forever love the day that I met you.

Blame the winds, sweetheart,

and destiny too,

But I will forever be sorry for the day I left you.

My old whispers filling up the ocean,

and millions of bottles float aimlessly

to ex-lovers, and always-on-my-minds,

to tell them, "I loved you". 

To tell them, "I cared".

She floats on the edge of my mind,

teetering, hesitating,

she smiles,

then she's gone.

Fall Comes and it Goes.

you're as sweet as the language

begs to be told -  your stories burn on your lips

dying to be passed on. 

share the burden, oh misery loves the company.

you're the oldest cliche and so is my love for you, 

we fit we fit

like sand in an hourglass: ever-changing but the same.

oh you'll always be my summertime lover

but when the leaves fall and the motions pass,

i will leave you, i will have to.

you're the sweetest song i've written,

but you were never meant to be sung.

too selfish to let you be heard,

no i could never, i could never let the sun touch you.

all the unpleasant places in my head

have disappeared at your touch,

they've disappeared, but they'll be back when i leave you.

and i'm sorry, i love you and i know you love me too.

you have to, but i have to leave.

i have to leave you.

MCM means

every morning

wake up

step out of bed

free fall

bottomless pit

rinse and repeat.

Closed Sofa Eyes.

There was an old woman vomiting candy at the street-side,

smarties, skittles, toffees and sweets.

Still neatly wrapped in their crinkly papers,

dislodging themselves from her body.

I couldn't tell if she stole them earlier,

or if I was hallucinating it all.

Why was an old woman vomiting candy by the street,

the rainbow concoction hitting the asphalt with dull thuds.

the walls to his heart were built by harsh words
untangible
invisible
yet absolutely
unbreakable.

i know,
i tried.
Once
upon a time
he said, i never love,
so i never lose
so i never hurt.
i said,
no, you're hurting now.
you can't have happiness
without sadness.
then let me be empty forever,
he said.

then what's the point of life,
i asked.
what's the point of living.
he said he wanted to be empty
like a fragile overturned glass
but all he was was a stone,
full, hard, stable.
no way to empty
without irreversibly damaging
it.
him.

i wanted to love him.
he wanted to live.
i asked why can't we both have what we want
(lord knows, it would be the first time.)
he traced the corners of my eyes,
questioning their dampness.
i'm sorry,
i don't know how to be what you want.

Esoteric.

I posted this on INO but it disappeared into the 2nd page and I'm too lazy to bump it up. Also, I haven't posted many poems on this yet and my new poems need some touching up, so here's an old one. Not quite a poem, but it means a lot.

I wanted to begin this by telling you I've lost my way,
I've forgotten who I am.
But then the words formed in my head,
like they always do, jumbled up,
too pretty for me to comprehend.
Too beautiful to escape my mind.

So instead I have to tell you that I never did find my way.
I set out years ago,
onto the road of Obligatory Identity Crisis.
I thought I found myself.
When the dust finally settled,
I thought my mind did too.

But like with most things, I was wrong.
I'd like to be able to describe my confusion
in decorated metaphors,
to show you how I could be smart,
how I could be everything I'm trying to be.

So I'll confess that at one point in my life,
I was a sheep in wolf's clothing,
halo rusting.
Pretending,
pretending to be bad,
to be brave,
to be the girl you'd dreamt of meeting,
you know, the one with the crazy hair and screwed up heart.
The kind of girls you read about in those crazy cult novels,
Smart, full of quirks and snappish wit.
Girls who'd break your heart and stay on your mind.

But I'm just a plain jane.
Always have been,
always will be.
The first time you meet me,
you won't even notice me,
your eyes will be set on the two beautiful girls behind me.
The ones sipping their drinks and
pretending to be too cool to care if anyone
took an interest to them.

I'm sorry, I digress.
The whole point of this was to tell you that
I still don't know who I am.
Or perhaps I do,
I'm just so unsatisfied that I won't settle.
I want to be the girl you'd remember,
your love at first sight.
The girl you'd talk about when you're drunk with your friends,
and exclaiming,
"She's amazing, I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

If this ever reaches you,
will you be brave enough to break my heart?
Because I know,
I know somewhere at the back of my mind
behind those figurative walls everyone has built up
to keep things in and keep things out,
that you'd never fall in love with a plain jane.

And no matter how many times I've told you
I don't know who I am,
I don't think I'll ever find myself
As anything more than that.
The background character,
the one in the credits as Girl in Classroom #2.
and You,
you'll always be the leading man.
and someone else will be the leading girl.

So yeah, I never did find my way.
And yeah, you'll never notice me,
and this,
this letter of a pathetic confession
which is more confusing than touching
will never find its way to You.

I hope it never finds its way to You.

Forever,
Jane.

Rhetorical Concern.

There's a fine line between life and death
and my world is hanging on that thread/threat.
Tiptoeing the line, I'm such a lousy acrobat.
And the umbrella in my hand is full of holes.
Oh if it rained,
if the clouds decided to humiliate me more,
not only would I fall
Fall.
I'd be soaking wet.

Wet.
Like my face and my shoes,
I'm such a picturebook tragedy,
hair's a mess, heart's all torn.
Walking a fine line between
Right and Wrong.

Wrong.
Such a patronizing word.
Oh, what's wrong, love,
oh what's wrong.
And if I sigh and tell you "everything",
nothing's right.
Would you have the power to fix me anyway?

Oh what's wrong, love.
What's wrong?

The red button's been pushed,
the emergency signal's on a loop,
I'm an acrobat losing balance.
What's wrong,
well nothing's right.

What's wrong?
Well, nothing's right.

Refuse

You ever feel trapped standing at a crossroad?
There's 4 exits and no walls closing in on you,
but your brain's shutting down.
It can't choose.
You can't choose.

"Where do I go from here?",
the question replays itself
until it's burnt into your thoughts.
When you read a word too many times
it starts to look foreign,
it starts to not make sense.
"Where do I go from here?"
replayed too many times starts to sound like
I've got nowhere to go from here
starts to sound like
I need to stay here
starts to sound like
I want to stay here.

And there you have it,
4 paths to choose from and no walls closing in.
Yet you're trapped in your own mind,
a cage smaller than any tangible one.
Until your feet's clamped down,
the question's stopped replaying
and all that's left to do
is
stay
still.

There's nowhere for me to go.

Word of the day: Patronize

So, I was thinking right, and that's never a recipe for good news. But, there's right and wrong and black and white, things that are completely opposite in every way, except for like one similarity which they are compared on to figure out that they are the opposite of each other. So why is it that one opposite is easier than the other? Like how, wrong is easier than right unless you're morally uptight or your conscience haunts you relentlessly.

The thought that brought today's ramble along, I guess is. Doubt vs. Faith. Now, they're supposedly the opposites of each other. So why is it that it is so much easier to doubt than to believe? Why is faith, such a simple idea, so complicated to actually have?

Which got me to thinking, what defines complex? Like, I could be here, in my computer stool, worrying about Why We Live, or What My Future Will Be Like, and I think, man this shit is complicated.
Whereas someone in like, Venice is sitting on this parkbench thinking of the same things and thinking, Life Is Good, Life Is Simple.

Which got me to thinking, Man, I'm fucked up sometimes.

Which, proves that I should probably give this thinking thing a rest.
I've been called mature for my age, but I'm genuinely naive about the most simplest things in life. Really, show me a concept and watch me Fret Over It.

When it comes to making mountains out of molehills,
I'm the best architect you could choose.

First.

I took a cue from my good friend Nab, and created a place for me to post some scribbles, thoughts, photos mayhaps when my camera is up and running again. If you're here, you most likely know me irl, or on ino.
I post in acronyms sometimes but I can be a bit of a grammar-nitpicker.
I'm jane, I don't matter much but one day, to someone, hopefully my words will.

I'll start posting when I finish choosing/start looking for pretty templates.