Monday, September 29, 2014

La Vita è Bella

She holds my hand. It's tighter than usual - tighter than that time when I accompanied her to ride a roller coaster for the first time; than when she accepted my proposal and cried and shook; than when she gave birth to our first baby girl and I was so thankful I wasn't the one pregnant, and even more thankful that everything went well; tighter than that time when the doctor told us I only had two years to live.

Friday, September 26, 2014


One day, a lion caught a lost dolphin and

In recent news, a car was hija

An ode to the unheard

I was feeling scared

When you






A Hand Wanders.

Thursday, September 25, 2014


A lost eyelash on her cheek.
The flutter of her eyelids.
The creases when she smiles.
The clear brown of her iris.
The deep black of her center.
The watery film when she cries.


I Fell.
I am obsessed.

Last Night

A whiff
Of cold salty air.

The caress
Of the midnight breeze.

The howl
Of the distant moon.

The distance
Of all your worries.

Your eyes.
Your arms.
Embrace it all.

Let the storm come.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

On Writing

Words are spontaneous -
New souls born
With each utterance of a mouth.
Never the same

They are conceived in the heat of passion -
Between the lust of the mind
And the thirst of the voice.
Our throats dry
Our souls parched.

Each word is an expression -
A groan or a moan
For the pleasure and pain
That we derive from every creation.

So let it out,
Don't hold it in.
Open your luscious lips
Mumble and scream
Of all the words you need to hear.

Monday, September 22, 2014

A Monologue

When you feel
Happy, sad, excited, hurt, or conflicted,
When you feel,
Just let it out.

I write.
Maybe you should try it.

Isn't music your muse?
Then go make lyrics;
Write a song.

It doesn't have to be pretty,
Or depressing,
Or healthy,
Or destructive.
Or it can be all at once!
It doesn't have to be consistent.
Don't listen to those fools.
The past is nothing but a random pattern.
The future is nothing but unpredictable -
Unless, of course, if you design it like so.

Consistency is a beautiful term they invented,
With an equally creative description in the dictionary.
Consistency is a word they made
To be interchangeable with mediocrity.
And that, I say,
Is the least of what you are.

But no matter what,
Tell the truth in your art.
Because for all the fickleness of life,
There is one truth that you live by.
Some romanticize this concept
And call it the self.

But I -
I just call it me.

We are a truth, you and I.

Never forget that,
And maybe you'll be able to trick people into thinking
It is this "consistency" they scream of.
But don't be like them,
Don't follow them, of course -
Never, in fact.
You don't have to be anything at all.
You don't even have to be you!

But then,

It'd sure be nice if you choose to be.

She smiles.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Wisdom of the Past

Strange, isn't it?

When the one you reject the most,

Understands you best?

Question #2

What is the beauty of the outside world,

Compared to your perfection that I've been graced with?


And how do you become alright with the fact

                         That Humans are finite and imperfect

That memories are forgotten,

And I remember you less                                                  
Day and day?

Saturday, September 20, 2014


I'd like to tie a rope around your waste,
Hang you up high,
And stir you like newly made coffee.
See how you feel about that.

Can you feel your guts twisting?
It's like an involuntary rollercoaster.
You can't get away.
Oh That?
That's the sound of your own puking.
That's the whisper of your mind screaming.
That's the incomprehension touching you.
Animals kill animals for survival and necessity.
And yet I was naive to their infinite capacity for evil.

Humans are so dumb.
They make these self-actualizing concepts,
And deem themselves worthy of justifying everything.
You wonder,
Where the fuck do they get their confidence?
How can they scream empathy and justice,
When they only know how to place themselves
In shoes and not in paws -
When webbed feet are impossible?
When flippers are for the incapable,
And wings are for the technology-deficit.

They study and study.
And their vocabulary wrongly defines appreciation.
What fools.
It is the greatest fault of all legendary heroes.
It is the greatest fault of man's ideals.

*This isn't a poem. I don't even know if this is prose. This is a rant - unstructured and free. This is a plea. This is me understanding why we eat meat, and more than that knowing that this is different from outright cruelty. This is not playing with food. This is playing with life that we deem insignificant to ours. This is a reaction to an article I saw on Dog Spinning done in Bulgaria. No, I did not even open that link. I cannot. This is different from that article of an area in China eating dogs. I was sad and outraged, but that is my own bias. Animals are eaten for survival. I do not think the lion cruel for killing the deer. I only pity the deer and hope for it to die quickly. But, let me repeat -  cruelty is different. It's an entirely different thing to play with life. PLAY - how did such a joyful word become so twisted?