Split Halves

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I trudged around the block

Sighing,

Heaving,

Cursing,

Unbelieving —

Even though I deserved it.

Pandora’s Box, if you will,

Infected my dreams and shining hopes.

There she was in the Land of Ago

Another time,

Another place,

Another whisk,

Another space —

Intermingling with mine.

Cold stiff grace the pavement before me

Like the purgatory that raged inside,

A loop of despair that tugged at

My thoughts,

My dreams,

Ones that were bursting

At the seams —

I was hung in my own existential limbo.

Never mind that first impression don’t exist;

I only know what I know when I am

Watching,

Reaping,

Seething,

And finally weeping —

Because finally, your being became my downfall.

But one hour to the next — I am revived once more.

I deciphered your core, for you complete me;

Till our ends meet I’ll keep

Wondering,

Teeming,

Dancing,

Dreaming —

For humble fate calls me to heave hard, and lay low.

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The Cafe

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The cafe is where I

Spend afternoon musings

Drinking in…the scent of spicy tea

And the shards of homely memories

Contingent throughout

While Francois Hardy crooned her love

To the spring rain and wind

Tapping at our door —

The honeybunches.

Will you notice at last?

That faithful rendez-vous

I chose in your name

Before I ever knew you were.

Complete my picture

Of tranquil excellence,

Else I’ll sip into further ruminations

And lose my mind to eternal abidings,

The cafe and its sweetly promises

As I just…dream away.

Don’t Waste Your Love On Me

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I simply don’t have time tonight

There be watching, a dozen scrupulous eyes blazing bright

Romantic; though built on an insufferable trifle

The living breath out of me I stifle, stifle, stifle

Nay, don’t lay eyes on a picturesque image of broken identity

Don’t waste your love on me

*

Your doting, your hindsight, your wily-dily woo

Will rouse no bygone heart; it just won’t come through

You wonder: why?

Well, what if my time isn’t nigh?

The thing is, what I want to say is, I forgot

Don’t invest your love in hearts that cannot

*

I’m not real, see; not to them, not to you

Just a lil’ figment of an ideal you thought you knew

Seek me, love me, keep me, die

You can even put that in order, though they all might try

And your idol thus said: “I’m sorry.

Don’t waste your love on me.”

***

*Does productive stuff for the past two hours* Okay I’m bored now. What should I do next? Hmmm-hmmm…

 

Evening-goer’s Delight

It’s been a while. I’ve been quite busy with things, some of which I like, but in the process had to sacrifice other things that I also like (like writing/blogging). I stepped away from my history book and outside the door for some fresh air. The twilight weather was…wow. It’s November here in California, which means it’s getting chillier, but on rare occasions, the weather and the atmosphere is like SUMMER again! And I was so overwhelmed that I had to jot down this poem to preserve the perfection. I’m happy to say that in those long busy autumn days, my poetic muse is still alive.

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***

My God! — the time is perfect

The time is NOW

The creamy twilight merges into

A homely conglomeration of serendipity

Earthly needs, they call me to stay

For if not, I’d just fade away

Into the raw serenity.

*

I sing a song of the crickets

The shy evening sky — oh, just ever-so-high!

To the one who flaunts November summers

Your warm breath frames a picture-perfect standstill

I forgot my sorrows

I forgot such things as tomorrows

There’s no WIND — just a looming, sweetly chill.

*

The strands of sun have tucked in, now

The air feels on my fingers — like a tender cheek

Let me lean on you, revel, BREATHE

I just don’t want to think, lest I cave

Cave to your impish cues

Yet your presence shines on in sunset hues

For you’re the one I desperately crave.

***

P.S: You know that picture up above? Yep, that one’s mine. I actually took it on my old ipod. And for an old ipod, I actually liked the way the picture turned out!

 

Life Is Not a Dream

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Have you ever experienced a time so exhilarating that you hoped it would never end, only to wake up from it and realize it was a dream?

Sure, Tiffany. Of course, Tiffany. Everybody has that. But maybe I’m talking about this because of how deeply it touched me, despite it being a universal occurrence. Ah, the hopeless life an HSP…

Anyways, I dreamed that I met the object of my affections. Never mind how we got to know each other better, as dreams usually skim over such details. Within time, I was play-wrestling on the floor with that person. We were hysterically laughing, cuddling, playfully pinning each other on the ground — my, what a high I got when it was me doing the pinning! And all because we adored each other so much. I felt sense of wild, euphoric bliss that I never experienced in real life. Dreams, man. I swear the good ones make you high.

A voice in the back of my head always questions whether the situation is too good to be true. Well, such was the case now. And thus, a snivel of doubt entered my dreaming mind. The waking world is always so devastating to wake up to. And I was enjoying this moment, as much as I couldn’t make sense of it…

Sure, it could be a dream. Sure, it all feels too good to be true. Sure, only in dreams do you obtain your object of affection so easily. But, in case this is a dream — here a rush of pure love aka dopamine engulfed my brain — THEN THIS IS A DREAM I HOPE TO NEVER WAKE UP FROM.

I think it’s just funny that I knew I was dreaming while I was dreaming, and yet I hoped the fantasy would play on forever and forever and forever…

Maybe this basking in eternal love is a smidge of what Heaven is like?

Anyways…

This monologue. I call it being “artsy” and “poetry.”

You probably know it as, “procrastinating from homework.”

Play It Again

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The nice thing about poems is that there’s no wrong or right way to write one You just do. Meanwhile, I wrote this poem almost as though a sensation called “automatic writing” came over me.

What’s this one about? Hmmm. How do I tell you this…it’s pretty speculative. Wishful, I daresay. And the piano can be a metaphor, I realized…

*****

I saw you in the piano room today

I saw,

I saw,

How your concerto was only child’s play

The keys mourned the end of a summer breeze

Such longing! I thought the night-stilled air would freeze

Meanwhile you were lost in a soliloquy

I just lay there and felt your eternal sigh

*

I’d be the gem to your forte

I wish,

I wish,

In those same little notes that swept my breath away

You said the time, while it lasted, was a bliss

What, no parting kiss?

I’ll hear of you again, if the future’d entail

For Anthony Greninger lingers on in your trail…

Kunoichi

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That’s it — that’s it, you guys. I’m so done this one. So. Done. Took me a month to finish this poem, and even then I’m not fully satisfied with how some of the stanzas resulted. But my muse is drained of any more ideas for improvement. I swear, it wasn’t easy to write. So I’ll just have to contend with what I came up with. 

*Drops pencil*

*****

Reigning in the splashes of a moonlight’s dazzle

So swift, so curtained behind

This Japanese night

Her silhouette etched against a moonlight’s dazzle

The warriors of the rising sun loved her

Like she loved her own

Forever bonded, forever alone

She knew her place in the clan

*

A light shone in the cold-infested night

And within it — the sight of home

The shogunite swooned for her tonight

She was the vessel he called home

Red-lips a-blazing, eyes a-savoring

She knew what to do best

Put her masseur skills to the test

She loved making her husband feel loved

*

Past nocturnal passions

The shogunite said the tea was cold

She said, “Why so?”

She knew that the tea was cold

His fall echoed into the still night

Amidst the groan, gasp and hiss,

She leaned over him with a parting kiss

Her breath reeked of the ghosts of his nemesis

*

Heartbeats turned to footsteps on the doorstep

How she wanted to end his lasting agony

End his plight, swift and clean!

She couldn’t stand to see his dying agony

The dagger was merciful tonight

For the shogunite; he no longer stirred

Thus her chance to slip in the final word:

“Remember the clan!”

*

She slinks among her own

Like fleeting shadows in a moonlight’s dazzle

She runs wild and wile, that kitsune

On the eve of a moonlight’s dazzle

To a realm which owed her much

She owes nothing but her life

To those who saved her from the ruins of a medieval strife

She knew she loved her clan…

***

Poem form was inspired by the song, “Moonlight Shadow”, so you might see some similarities if you compare the stanzas.

 

Funny How the World Works

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Half a year ago, I struggled with crippling depression and anxiety. I was head over heels in love. With someone — a fantasy version of someone, more like — so far away from me, physically and existentially and personality-wise. Just thinking of that person consumed my life, my mind and my self-esteem. I was no longer myself. I was living through someone else, and even then, like I said, a fantasy version of that someone.

The nightmarish pain I had getting two bags of ice tied by my coach onto my sore feet after a cross country workout the other day (*Screeeeeeeeeeeeech*) was nothing, nothing, compared to my emotional torment. Last semester, I hobbled through school without much direction. Every day was a matter of surviving, not living. I spent my energy dodging the worst anxiety attacks…if I was lucky.

The scariest part was knowing I was enslaved within the snares of my mind because of something that’s supposed to be beautiful but instead made my life a living hell: infatuation.

Luckily, I am aware that I have a rational side. It calmly took note of what I was feeling and all the sensations and thoughts that came with it. It assessed the situation but didn’t get pulled in. It calmly told me,

“Allll righty. Tiff’s in love — how poetic. Let’s milk it. Milk it, I say. We’ve got a lot of material to work with! Get to work, now!”

And within time, my feelings became translated into several heartfelt poems, which by the way I felt proud of. And trust me, “proud of” myself isn’t a feeling I’m used to.

Another time I was hiking up Mt. Tamalpais with my family. I was surrounded by nature, loved ones, and a whole day of fun, but I was feeling none of it. Depression struck, and I never felt so alone.

At least you have family by your side, I mused. Like, some people have no family. Be glad yours are alive. Gee, I wonder how what kind of depression orphaned people go through? What is it like for those whose parents have died when they were still children?

Wait. What if…?

A light bulb went off. Okay, multiple to be more accurate, because ideas upon ideas were pouring into my head all at once, cluttering the space until I was fervently collecting the shards before they disappeared from memory. Because at that moment, an idea for a novel dropped into my head. My protagonists would feel the same depression as I did, only on a much, much deeper level. They’d feel the same hopelessness, think the same distorted thoughts, suffer the same pain. Throw in some murdered parents Peter-Parker style and a whodunit mystery. Oh, and clinically diagnosed psychopaths. That would be interesting. My head teemed with the potential my new inner life promised me.  Isn’t it the most relishing experience, to think up of groundwork for a novel, and you’re so in love with it?

The rational part of my mind must’ve had a field day.

“You’re depressed? Again?! Hmm. Let’s use that to your advantage. Look — look! Somebody more depressed than you. Your protagonist. Guess what? He has a story to tell — because you were the first one who came out with one. Yeah, you can thank me when you gets published. Kiss my boots when your become famous. How ‘bouh dah?”

To think that my darkest shadows, my worst demons, and my murkiest ponderings have been fuel for some of my creative endeavors. Do you believe suffers happen for a reason bigger than ourselves, even when it becomes too unbearable?

Perhaps the world’s blessings and torments are interconnected. And it’s up to us to own our torments and turn them into something beautiful. It’s why “art” exists.

Funny how the world works.

And funny how creative writing ideas come about.

 

 

 

By the River I Mourned Sorrow

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Next to the river I mourned sorrow

It raged a Nile, raged w’out a morrow

My heart beared heavy remembrance

While in my hands

A voice converted into snapshot remnants.

*

I held the recording device to my ear

Finally, finally, purging time’s near

Lil’ brook of a fountain’s voice, so divine

Surged into a roar

Though through it all, I could still hear mine

*

I said: I’m in pain

She said: I promise to not disdain

I told her, I spake the word, I cried

Carry me now, tears…

I thought you’d like to be my bedside

*

November shards of heart would drip

Through the air’s chilly stills were the sound of a stifled rip

A whirlpool of hopes, I’m thinking

The waterbed gave IN

I was reliving, relieving, sinking…

*

Then I broke the water surface suddenly apart

A fresh awakening, a new start

In last commemoration of what was to be

The ripples took on tears

Before they cleared and turned into…me

Why You?

abrazo-al-arbol

Ah — one of my favorite poems that I’ve written.

***

I don’t know why

From mere memories of you my world

would always reek

I don’t know why

I cling to the crease of your smile against

My teary cheek

Why is my bubble of burning effervescence

Built upon your imaginary presence

Nothing to hide, yet nothing to show

*

I don’t know why, then

My degrees of heartaches become a-tenfold

I don’t know why, then

Your beating pulse against mine turns cold

This feeble string of fervor I cast between us

Succulent, but superfluous

Only to be ruptured with a savage blow.

*

And so, I ask:

Why you?