eternal loneliness

lonely poems waiting for another line, another hit from the master, if she was ever a master
lonely writer, doesn’t understand the veins of her own poetry
the roots she cut into several parts trying to make something out of nothing
out of everything
still trying to map out all the roads in the leaves of her entirety
lonely poet, doesn’t call me a poem, doesn’t call herself a poem
a piece of art she is
with all her complexities
her subtleties
and her inability to see the trail of dark, majestic stardust trailing behind her
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artifact pillow

The remnants of my dreams are now fossilized inside the underbelly of my pillows and once I close my eyes, there are days when I would be the excavator. Swimming in the sweat of my own desire to hold them again, to be in their presence, to embrace them with all the strength I have left. And there are nights when they glow high above my home, the moon takes notice, jealous of the light they are emitting, wanting so badly to steal them from me. But I lie in bed, my arm on my forehead, wondering why I ever dreamt that dream in the first place. That dream that is now only fossilized inside the underbelly of my pillows.

i was wondering

I wonder if you dream when you wrap your arms around me as night falls and so do our eyes
Do you?
I hope you do
I hope no monster tricks you into believing this isn’t real because it is
It is
I hope the wind does not knock too loudly, enough to rouse you
And as much as I hope you would tell me all the stories you have read, or tasted, or touched while dreaming, let them live inside your Heart for a little while longer
Let them linger
Let them recognize your face, touching every feature, memorizing you with closed eyes but open hands, as I do when you are wide awake
Let them be dreams
I want you to dream

far

I feel you
Holding on to me
Clinging
I swear its your fingertips caressing my chin
And your arms around my neck, tightly

Hold me tighter, my Love
Hold me
Tell me your stories in long text messages, let them be letters
Or in short calls just so I could hear you breathing
Such a digital world we live in
Maybe we could send parts of us travelling along with it
Small parts are never small, really

There’s distance between us
And it so often materializes itself
Becomes too sharp
Or too heavy
Only to fall upon us
But if it is an iceberg or a rock or whatever it wants to be
Let us melt it
Until we’re stepping on its puddle
Our feet mere millimeters apart
Hands kissing
Lips brushing
Hearts beating
Together even as our bodies aren’t

hush

I am made up of sudden earthquakes and unexpected tornadoes
My typhoons do not have names for one occurs immediately after another passes
All drawn by the tsunami-like presence of the absent future
And the past boring sink holes into my being with its constant stares
I am anxious
I am scared
This gigantic cycle of clouded days and starless nights
Has me clinging onto the smaller things, the simple things in my life

Ripping paper
Piece by piece
Little by little
Again and again
Reminding myself
That something is never nothing
Even the torn
And the broken

Poems too
As they slide down my lips to journey towards my fingertips
Leaping and flying
Written, undying

And certain smells of my childhood
And tastes
And sights
And memories of eating sunshine and drinking moonlight

And then there’s you
And your forehead kisses
Tiny kisses
Quiet kisses
No words needed
Just your lips on my forehead
And your arms wrapped tight around my Heart
Hush
Hush
Hush
Your shortest love letters
Lingering

I am still
I am tranquil