alive / dead

she claimed
she would much rather
feel hurt than to be numb
because at least
there was still a tugging distress
rather than bleak extinction,
and at least she was aware
that she was clearly still

he claimed
he would much rather
feel numb than to be hurt
because at least
he couldn’t feel the tribulation
tearing him to pieces from
and at least he was not aware
that he was somehow

life is beautiful

life is beautiful, they say,
and sure enough, it is.
each ray of sunlight,
that kisses you awake
each smile exchanged,
so incomparably honest
each breath emitted,
a sure sign of existence
there’s no doubt
that life is beautiful.

life is beautiful, they say,
but you begin to question
whether it’s fiction or not
as you lay awake at 4 AM
with a tear-stained face
each breath you take,
seemingly meaningless
each second that goes by,
igniting your loneliness.
is life really beautiful then?


roses were not my thing
and somehow he already knew
from the very beginning,
because one September morning
as the sun arrived to greet me
“good morning”
so did he,
with an abundance of handpicked daisies
and a breathtaking “hello”
with that smile, seemingly genuine,
so believably true, like the daisies.

but he left the next month,
leaving me with a vase of shriveling sadness.

roses were not my thing
but somehow you never really knew
because one February morning
the morning sky blazing with a vibrant tangerine hue,
you arrived at my doorstep
with a bouquet of tired-looking roses
and i recall wondering why
so you insisted that they were
beautiful, like me.
but to me, they weren’t beautiful at all
just a cliché mess of mediocrity,
the furthest away from beautiful
and so was I.

but you never left my side,
and with time they grew out of their vase
and into my heart.


lurking impatiently in the crevices of your mind,
i nudge you and beg your soul to reminisce.
you are afraid of the ache i bring you,
but yet you crave the twinge.
i am but a burst of pure nostalgia,
an irreplaceable, bittersweet remembrance.
like a relentless ghost, i haunt you,
reminding you of your expired bygone days.
you desire only the blissful pieces of me,
too remorseful to revisit the hurt you once felt.
and i am both agonizing and delightful,
a menagerie of melancholy pain and
immense commotion.


we have faded
like the denim overalls
that belong to the haggard farmer
once a sturdy, deep blue
now tattered with fatigue
color melting away as did time
below the sun’s scorching breath

we have faded
like pencil in an antique diary
formerly confided in with dismal feelings
once an intriguing charcoal artistry
now a hodgepodge of insincere gray
the pain receding away as did time
beneath weary shelves of dust bunnies

we have faded
like the end of a film
with the screen darkening by each dreaded
once a glowing, vivid sight
now a parcel of despondent credits
slowly vanishing until every speck of light
has dissolved into an unfortunate nothing


you fell in love with april
and the warm breezes within it
you fell in love with our small talk
and deep conversations
overflowing with continuous feeling

i fell in love with red
because that’s what you always wore
and i fell in love with paper
because it was my bitter escape
from a tumultuous flame inside of me

you fell in love with my words,
my unintentional smiles
and never ending stories
you fell in love with bits and pieces
but not in love with me

the war of sadness

i used to battle sadness like a war in my head,
but now i have learned to cherish my misery.
i always thought being sad meant infinite hours of despair,
but i never really believed that unhappiness could spark iridescent creativity.
i once loathed my incessant loneliness,
but now i indulge in the inspiration it holds within it.
if i could alter the ache of my past, i still would not, because
i would have never experienced how truly captivating sadness is.
i never realized that sorrow can be joyous, in its own twisted way,
but i might begin scavenging for the silver lining in every desolate rain cloud.
i can’t fully erase the toil accumulated from tragic times,
but i can use this hysteria to craft something quite lovely.
i won’t ever feel complete ecstasy, perhaps not.
but i might begin to heal my brittle heart.
i used to only think of sadness as an indestructible burden,
but now i possess a growing admiration towards it.


i distinctly remember
your admirable smile
and the serene look on your face
blushing in the warm summer air
and how that smile
seemed to embarrass the stars
and the overall brightness of it
humiliated the city lights.

i distinctly remember
the sound of your laughter
euphonic and melodious
ringing like joyous church bells
and how that laugh
put all symphonies to shame
and the overall resonance of it
mortified the musicality of this world.

i distinctly remember
your face in the midst of a crowd
staring back at me, a ghost
with a gaunt, pitiable look
and how that face
seemed as despairing as the ocean
and how the overall sight of it
stirred jealousy in the oppressive rainclouds


There once lived a girl
Barely even three
Who wore childish, innocent smiles
And ran around freely.
She spent summer with her sister
Picking lilac flowers,
Rolling down grassy hills
Endless fun for hours.

There once lived a girl
Finally thirteen
Who wore gloss on her lips
And said things she didn’t mean.
She spent summer all alone
Never picking any flowers
Claiming she had better things to do
With her endless summer hours.

There once lived a girl
Sixteen, impossibly thin
Who painted scarlet on her wrists
Because she could never ever win.
She spent summer locked away
Bawling in her room for hours
And there was nothing in the world she wanted
More than lilac flowers.

There once was a girl
Who tried so hard in life
But she couldn’t bear to live
With her sugarcoated strife
And one day she just vanished
So her sister cried for hours
And upon her solemn grave
She laid withering lilac flowers.