I never used to remember what happened in my dreams, Or dwell on them when I awoke. But lately, the images within them have become More vivid and disturbing Than ever before. Suddenly, I am back in relationships with bad boyfriends Who I've forgotten both love me and hate me. I even fall for their... Continue Reading →
Perhaps
I can't deny there is an empty feeling now within me. Perhaps it has to do with growing older and finding myself but I seriously feel like connecting with people on a deeper level is difficult for me. I've weighed the possibilities that perhaps my friends are not right for me or perhaps I am... Continue Reading →
New Characters?
I've been struggling with the aesthetic of the characters for a while now and I've constantly asked myself How should I bond the character with it's character poetry? I've gone from numbering each line of poetry and printing its corresponding number on the back of the characters, to simply writing down the poem in a book.... Continue Reading →
End of the Month: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
"I'd be good to you," he says to me over bites of sushi and spilled soy sauce. "I'm good to me," I tell him and stare down at my roll. I hopped off a bus less than an hour ago to visit a city I had once been so connected to. The boy I am... Continue Reading →
Grab a Bowl
I visited my hometown yesterday: My hands became cold as I climbed off the bus. This place never gave me any comfort, just anxiety. l/r
Bad Poetry
Bad Poetry is a term I use to refer to a series of tragic, ironic and consistent events that occur within a character's life, without conscious reason, but simply for the pleasure and entertainment of the Gods. It can be found on that particular morning when your alarm clock fails to go off, where you miss... Continue Reading →
Hot wax on my bare skin always reminds me of good days, and bad too; I still can’t tell them a part.
819 My boyfriend was a warrior, in the street and in our bed, but his silent kisses were more painful than his infliction. Hot wax on my bare skin always reminds of good days, and bad too; I still can't tell them apart.
Soon popsicles and lemon drops became too sweet and I realized, my father too, preferred hot tea.
819
Weaknesses
I don't remember the last time I cried in someone's lap,Or revealed a phobia in need of release. I'm not the type to get too close, Too friendly, too involved or too in love.I like my companions near but in the distance like a boat on the horizon. The irony is having a weakness about the inability to... Continue Reading →
Famous Last Words 