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.