POETRY

I loved you like how the earth loves the moon
Technically I can exist without you, but
Without you there’s one less light in the night sky
My oceans won’t have tides
They won’t fall and they won’t rise like the way my eyes light up
When I so much as see you in the halls
I loved seeing you through all your phases

Waxing and waning not unlike my mood but seeing you,
Oh you were my moon
You were my moon, my light, my muse, my Little Dipper in the night Shining ever so brightly down on me
Revolving around me, only for me

But you get your light from the sun and
Now I feel stupid thinking I was the one
If the earth revolves around the sun, then so does the moon

I realize now that I’m not the earth
I’m Halley’s Comet
Coming by every 75-76 years and there’s nothing that can stop it
I pass by for a short amount a time just to admire the moon
A small glimpse of what I could be
Reflecting the sun's light and admiring its beauty

All I can do is watch as the moon and the sun coexist
Having this shared moment of beauty every solar eclipse
I love you, even if I’m not the Earth
I love you, when you’re not reflecting the sun

But the moon can’t exist without the sun
And now this comet will go back to where it came from

This new path, this unfamiliar future,
I’m standing here unsure where it leads, unsure what it nurtures.
Between friends and foes, there’s something strange in letting go,
like leaving behind everything I’ve ever known below.

These people we’ve known all our lives, side by side,
from pampers to prom, through every changing tide.
It’s strange how something so constant can suddenly feel unclear,
how forever can shift into something I now fear.

I feel so completely, yet so unsure inside,
like I’m moving forward while something’s still tied.
It’s a contradiction I can’t quite define,
a step toward the future that still feels like it’s mine.

I don’t know what it means for the rest of us,
only that somehow, it’s for the best of us.
Nobody here is settling for less,
So here we are, making this leap nonetheless.

So maybe tonight we don’t go to sleep,
because this moment is something we’ll keep.

When their world got thrown into chaos,
They simply tried to shut it out.

In their ignorance, never understanding that
It was impossible.

Never understanding that their positions as observers were
fueling the bonfires further.

Those who understood fought back  and understood saved
Tens, hundreds, thousands…

But at the same time, the dead filled graveyards,
battlefields,
and villages,
the  murders caused by the silent witnesses

The silence of the words almost hit harder than the
Ones that were heard.

It was the worst crime of all,
And yet many of those who committed it saw nothing as wrong.

It led to more silence, it caused the chaos to continue,
For families to be destroyed and reduced to few,

And the entire time,
The silent witnesses waited and closed their eyes. 

I tried to read past the crumpled corners of the map

Searching for ruins, hoping they’d land in my lap

But maybe I am foolish as these ruins may not be real,

Just a far off dream that has much appeal

I try to see through the tides

But all I see is that I am blind

The abyss stares back

With currents waiting to attack

I send all my ships out to sea

Hoping they can find Atlantis, that missing part of me

But they always come back, wrecked and torn

But I continue, for it is why I was born.

I wish to relive my past memories

But now they feel like distant fantasies

The ones where I felt free to live,

Where I didn’t see life as take and give

The tides may lead me astray

Yet I’ll still search beyond the gray,

Not to the sea or from above,

But from the self that I was stripped of.

They handed you a suit of armor before you could even crawl,

Told you it was skin

They said, “Build a fortress, not a home,”

And “Steel doesn’t bleed, it only strikes.”

That's the counterfeit blueprint

A hollow statute of a man, 

Heavy enough to crush the person trapped inside 

I remember the smell of that basement locker room

Stale sweat, cheap tape, a thick, invisible fog of unspoken rules

We sat on those wooden benches like a soldier in a trench, 

Listening to Coach scream
“Pain is just weakness leaving the body,”

Until we actually started to believe him

We were fifteen, but we were learning to be ghosts

Fading out of our own bodies,

Translucent and quiet where it mattered most.

We learned to haunt our own lives

To be present for the play, the hit, the score,

But be absent for the fear, the doubt, and the ache

We turned our hearts into white noise

Flickering out until we were just silhouettes of “toughness”

Terrified that if we showed any color, we would disappear, for real

We learned that the only acceptable way to touch another man

Was with a closed fist or a violent shove

Never a hug, never a steadying hand, never a “hey, are you okay?”

We traded our brotherhood for a hierarchy of “tough” and “weak,”

Not realizing that a team built on fear is just a group 

of lonely people

Wearing the same color jersey

We won the game for sure.

But we lost the ability to tell the truth 

about how much we were hurting

This type of masculinity is a debt you can never pay off

Constantly buying “manhood” with the currency of someone else's comfort

You spend your mother's peace of mind to prove you are unbreakable 

You spend your partner's security to prove you're “in control”

You bankrupt the people who love
to just to keep the lights on in a house made of ego

You're a rich man in a costume, but a beggar in your soul

Paying for a title that costs everyone else everything

How deep is what? 

What is deep? 

What can be considered deep? 

Does deep have a limit of some kind? 

Like the ocean? Or how about the sand?

Or maybe lost in a maze like a forest. 

Just like how sometimes you can get lost in the deep forest like your mind.

Or maybe there’s something deeper, darker than the forest.

Much deeper and darker than the deep sea. 

Darker than the limit of “deep” itself by definition. 

Deeper than the sharp weapon, like a knife lying in  kitchen,

deeper than any physical harm whether from cat claws or bug bites.

Deeper than any relationship. 

Words. Words can be cruel or kind. Yet most are cruel. 

Words can hit deep. 

Words can lead to deep manipulation. Where trust is broken. 

And leave a scar without any trace of evidence. Your mind can dive deep, 

deeper than your soul, just like thinking 

Your eyes is just witness the pain, 

your ears listening to every word carefully

Or maybe it’s something different. 

Maybe your self conscious mind is becoming numb

In depth kind of numb, the numb where nothing feels real. 

And that if everything does feel real then it’s a delusion. 

Deep can usually be reversable, or undo 

However when cruelty exist around words,

Deep isn’t a word to describe a damage that can’t be undone like time, or worse, 

Death 

If deep doesn’t have a limit then this isn’t just the phrase“deep.” 

This is called “permanent” or “infinite” 

The limit is nonexistent, because if there’s one single limit then the damage can be undone.

This poem isn't about the limitations of deep. It’s about choosing words/actions wisely.

This poem is a poem where once permanent things happen there’s no possible way where reverse exists. 

I want to be a king,

My armor shields my inner softness,

Leading and winning with a triumphant grin.

But eventually I will decay and rot,

The upcoming must live up to the expectations,

My reign will live forever.

I’ve waited for this moment forever,

I’ve gambled my future on the draw of a king,

I am not what they are expecting.

My plush peach skin so soft,

My words like sugar that make their teeth rot,

Thinking of what's to come makes me grin.

But everything's changed when they point with sly grins,

It seems as if their laughter has been going on forever.

My insides burn and my skin starts to rot.

I wanted to be a king,

But I am as a queen soft,

What was I expecting?

It’s hard to know what to expect,

Hard to know when to sit right and plaster a grin,

Hard to know when to be hard and when to be soft,

No matter what I will be doing something wrong forever.

They think they are superior, that they’re the kings,

But we are all equal when we rot.

I sit and stare as the apple rots,

Time slowed down more tediously than expected,

What if I still want to be a king?

What if I ignored their grim grins,

The prejudice that has lasted this long and will forever,

I don’t have to be always soft.

Their expressions aren’t soft,

They are “disgusted” and want to crawl up and rot,

What they think will never make me change forever.

My return was not expected,

And suddenly I feel triumphant with a large grin,

I am finally a king.

I choose to stay soft while ruling as a king,

Knowing that the even the iron must rot beneath a hollow grin,

The legacy lasts forever, unlike they expect.

When I was a child I never wanted to go to bed.

There was a group of children like me

And at nap time we would go to the class full of older children

With their older children toys that were supposed to be for kids who knew better

The little locking pegs that built grand structures,

The numbers embroidered all along the carpet

The posters we knew the letters of but could not read

It felt like being almost older.

So I’ve always thought,

Good things come to those who don’t sleep.

And later,

When I was older, but didn't feel older

I wanted all that came with being older.

I wanted to stay up late at night,

Scream things at my brother through the walls

To be a nuisance with my time

To dream awake 

To watch tv until my mind was rot like my mother always said it would be.

Because rot doesn't have a bedtime.

Because that’s what older kids do.

But later,

When I was older, and felt as much,

deadlines piled up as tall as mountains to climb

watched it tumble when I closed my eyes

And when I slept suddenly I was at the mountain base again

Tall, towering, and terrifyingly tiring

But I can’t climb a mountain fast if I stop to sleep.

Good things only come to those who don’t sleep

Staying up late to prove won’t fail.

Is failing.

Falling asleep

Is falling.

I have done the most terrible thing today

I have been happy.

The price of happiness now is sleep

Wasted in those precious waking hours 

Reading

Or drawing

Or learning a new way to waste time

Or maybe just talking

Or maybe helping a friend be productive in spite of myself

Or sitting there taking apart what I’ve made

Because I made something bad.

If time is money then I am poor,

I spend it frivolously

Throw it into a dark well where I can’t see the bottom

And hope it makes something good.

Sleep shallows the well,

So I can see exactly where my time is going

So I know exactly how much I’ve thrown into a ditch

Sleep is something always done better in the dark.

But maybe one day if it gets shallow enough

All I’ll need to do

Is reach in to grab it,

Close it tight in my fist

And hold it for a while.

For all the reasons I don’t want to sleep

Maybe, when I’m older, 

But don’t feel older yet

I will want it again.

I had been into Pokemon for several years

Due to its extensive collection 

Of elemental creatures.

As well as the humans that

Train them and capture them

Then fighting each other one Vs. one

And exploring regions 

Inspired by the real world.

A whole new world 

Of opportunities. 

The world is digital

With creatures running around

Spreading all types of elements

While bonding with creatures

Being similar to how we 

Bond with pets and interact 

With nature. 

For example, imagine

If you were standing in a world

Like an animated character

And first thing you see is a

Rodent that can use a powerful electric move 

Then you see a bunch of humans flying

Personally It could take several hallucinations

To remember what the characters 

Look like before

And how they look different

When seeing them again from

While it also takes me several tabs in my mind

To remember character names

And even Pokemon names in general.

But what I like about the series

Is the way characters can interact with creatures

Defeat villains and send them flying.

Blink.

They’re Gone. 

The way the characters Interact with each other

Contrasts how I also Interact with my friends.

Flaws come at a great cost 

Characters can 

Abuse, 

Cheat, 

And Abandon creatures

As if they were a pest in their life

These flaws can 

Cause relationships to be deteriorated

Result in injury in creatures 

When they fight past their limits.

Or if someone steals like a footpad. 

Failure to do things right 

Means that my whole world will

Turn against me. 

Overall, there is also a fair share of influencing factors. 

As influence can result in several creations

While creators are creating

Works based on various high grossing series.

Personally, It also inspired me to create my own series

In the near future. 

Imagine a world where anthropomorphism takes over Rail Vehicles 

And coexisting in a fictional world with

Interesting creatures called units. 

And Rail Vehicles use cards to capture creatures

In a fictional earthly world

While fighting against daily parasites. 

Because in a world full of creativity

Where there are those that rely on creatures for help

Someday there will be a day 

When we can explore this whole new world

Of creation and influence 

And become more successful in life

What is truly healing?
Is there even such a thing,
or just a pretty lie you tell yourself so it doesn’t sting?

Unlike you, there’s a crack that won’t stay quiet in my chest,
a constant kind of pressure that will never fully rest,
and somewhere in her silence, I know it’s ripping through
not asking for permission, just deciding what to do.

She is not a monster, don’t twist it into that,
just a girl still learning how to survive alongside the things she lacked,
while dragging something heavy she can never set aside,
a rot that grows in silence while you turn away and hide.

You don’t even recognize it, never learned its name or face,
this slow self-destruction wrapped in something like grace,
not cut off from the world, no, that would be too clean,
but cut off from herself in ways you’ve never even seen.

A silence that is violent, not peaceful like you claim,
a weight that keeps on tightening but never says its name.

She ignores it when she can but don’t confuse that with peace,
it’s just learning how to function while the pressure won’t release,

Maybe it was never healing maybe that was always fake,
just a word people use so they don’t have to break,
maybe silence isn’t comfort, maybe it’s control,
the kind that carves you out slowly without touching your soul.

So don’t call it recovery, don’t dress it up as grace
It's just learning how to live while something takes its place.

When I grow up I’m going to be an artist.

I’ll make the world feel like a hug
and elicit a tear from the audience after a scene.

Maybe write a book full of a whole different fantastical world.

Or our own! With characters to charm you.

All the pretty things about the soul,

Is what I will live for when I grow up.

What I’ll live with when I grow up.

Right, because art has always been the most stable degree

Or career, or thing to live for anyways. Everyone says so! 

Have you seen what it takes to “create” art now?

10k, 50k, 100k likes on instagram, twitter, tiktok.

Comments full of people reaching out to you! 

Well, what a luxury that would be, to be that kind of artist. 

I know, when I make art, I must be famous!

People will share, repost, comment, like

Share, repost, comment, like.

Like my art, please, look how I spent 10 hours on it.

It's the only way that it will ever mean anything to you anyways

Faster, make another trend faster, my hands work faster, 

my mind, my eyes, my heart to shut down with this stupid pencil faster!

For you to consume faster, for you to love and forget faster.

Why didn’t you like it? Was it not emotional enough for you?

Perfect enough for you, since when was art meant to be perfect?

Where’s my fame? Where's my creative clarity? 

The one you're praising and giving to the robot .

That makes everything faster, that grows popular faster

Satisfy you faster, upload this image of cat for me faster

Make money faster, where is my money, where is the promise of my art?

My art was never a promise

and as I hold the wooden pencil

I realize it could never be. 

When was the last time I spent more than an hour making art of my own?

When was the last time I tried to pick up an instrument and write lyrics?

When the first post I made flopped: I didn't question how talented I was?

Is this what made me an artist? The approval and appreciation of my time?

That hurt, and unmotivation to continue yet doing so,

 for me was what made me an artist

The faces of my creations were mine

The words on the page were mine, the worlds, the stories.

They were mine, and I couldn't make them exist faster.

Time never rushed them the way it did to creatives

Now. They don't have to worry if they’ll succeed, 

Or what other people will think when they say they make art.

They were mine from the minute I decided.

When I grew up I was going to be an artist.