for a lack of love

it’s always love that conquers the villain,
love that transforms the stoical robot.
are aromantics the antagonists, then,
of a story that’s so obsessed with ‘love’?
why is it affection that completes us?
why is romance the end goal?
whatever happened to rest of emotions
that define who we are as people?
i am sick of this tirade
against the lack of love.
go ahead and cling to the red thread
that you so firmly believe connects you
to your soul mate.
go ahead and express your passion
in endless pages of senseless poetry,
and weep of broken hearts
and crooked stitches,
but please don’t dehumanize me;
i am not any less of a person
just because i don’t want to be
in a romantic relationship.
let me embrace this lack of love
in peace.

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doubted reality

No matter how quickly she paced her selves, she always lead the way, strolling beyond her speed. There really wasn’t any doubt about it. In all honesty, where did the truth go? It probably nestled itself among the soft grasses that brushed against her ankles as she wearily hiked up the mildly steep hill once again. “W-Where are we going?” she gasped, panting slightly. She grinned without slowing down. “We’re going somewhere, obviously.” She rolled her eyes, even though she knew she wasn’t watching. Sometimes her vague speech frustrated her. “Explain yourself!” she demanded. “No need to,” she whispered, before placing a finger over her lips. She hesitated, puzzled, waiting for that crucial moment to pounce. She shrugged. “Well, I doubt my reality. I will always doubt it. The World spins on its head. The Oceans are splattered by the rain of tears and rose petals that forever spill from the eyes of Cloud. My World just isn’t. Yet I doubt that as well. The narcissistic Sky weeps in sorrow for the blocked mirrors of Lake, while the Sun bleeds crimson and gold across the Horizon before Dusk arrives with its veils of Stars. My fingers are stained by the feathery wings of dying butterflies. My soul burns from the lemon juice that’s squeezed from multiple attempts at Life. Which part of myself is real? Which one is a fake? I shall never know.” She watched the Sun above her. Soon her eyes burned to crisps, yet she could still see beyond the stars and planets that revolved around the Earth.

Yes, this indeed was a doubted reality.

the knight: a triolet

The tones of the piano sound so sweet
as the gallant pianist commands the keys.
While his fingers dance and flicker and fleet
the tones of the piano sound so sweet.
As he tames the wild rhythms and beat
there’s weeping among the fine ladies and trees.
The tones of the piano sound so sweet
as the gallant pianist commands the keys.

sometimes we think before we speak, but not often enough

Everyone is born with wings.
People usually learn how to fly by the time they’ve matured, physically and mentally. That’s what’s supposed to happen. Being able to soar through the sky, knowing where to go and how to get there, is proof of success and the happiness that follows, the ultimate goal. But for some reason, I feel like someone tore at my wings while I was still in an inchoate stage of development. I’ve toppled into the sea without any means of rescue, and I can already feel myself slowly, slowly drowning. I’m tired, sometimes sad, and always suffocating from the monotony that faces me. When did the hopelessness first worm its way into my life? When did I begin to choke on the water that endlessly swirled around me? I don’t remember, can’t remember, and sometimes, I wonder if the salt water that stings my eyes is from the ocean or from my own uncontrollable tears. And above is me is the sun, so pointlessly bright and high in the sky that it’s a miracle I haven’t yet snapped under the pressure.

fear is not a gentleman

i scramble through muddy grass,
trying my hardest not to slip and fall.
i can barely see through the gloom –
heavy clouds obscure the moon,
and rain pours down in
slick silver sheets.
i’m all bruised fingers and scraped knees;
hot tears drip down my cheeks
as i continue my frantic search.
i wish i could pretend you never existed,
but that’s impossible now.
you are the dread coursing through my veins,
the chill that runs up my spine
on a warm summer night.
you are what keeps me trapped in darkness,
impossibly lost in the maze
of a city i’ve lived in all my life.
maybe in a few years,
i will feel the bliss of moving on.
but by then you will return
in the form of another stranger,
and i will lose my equilibrium once again.

and yet again

she wrote all of his promises
on a hundred squares of paper,
one “i swear i will” per sheet.
each time he didn’t keep his word
she’d fold another rose, and soon
her garden of disappointment
flourished.

in a land of nostalgia

with every passing thought, i rot away,
surrounded by the day’s ephemera.
the sun is grey, the skies are black,
and the road i walk is a blemished white.
yet while the trees are bleached of their vivid hues,
only rain can penetrate the shadowy veil,
allowing me
to drown
in the colors of a monochrome world.