Live a little, lie a lot

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I prefer reminiscing the peak of dawn,

the scene of myself lying all limp and lanky

after all my energy I transferred

into your lips.

Spent. Unlike the superficial beauty

that I keep alive in my perfume bottle and complexion

to seduce my equally dashing counterpart.

***

Body of a man.

Face of a woman.

***

Him? Her? My understanding is blurred

while I’m still drunk on life and nihlism.

I like your big hands, though,

a cheap mimicry of the real package.

Old wisdom told me that

ya ain’t good for me, bubs-!

ever since I dubbed you the ultimate

Generator of Dreams.

But what happens when dreams become a reality?

***

“Stay,” I sobbed into an imaginary breastcoat

after you smothered me so hard my head swam

in a narcotic pool of my own making.

“Exist. Even if just.

Else I’ll wither.

Lie to me so hard you fail me

gracefully.”

***

Live a little,

Lie a lot.

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.

Life Is Not a Dream

low angle view of spiral staircase against black background
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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.”

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?

Dreamy-head’s Desire

Fantasy Dream Night Sky Photo Art Stars Daydreamer

Too many interests and potential passions; not enough time or resources.

*****

Musing,

I stand behind the window of possibilities

Multifaceted identities

I let them flow

Kindled desire

What of me does Fate require

To set these smoking flames a-glow?

*

Who am I?

I — am a burst of colors

My mind hollers

Atop the world

“Look at me!

Aren’t I a worthy sight to see?”

My confection of dreams unfurled.

*

Sensing, I am:

My creativity

Passionivity

These carriers need to unload

A physical feat

The pining pen of an aesthete

A mind, unbridled, can explode.

*

So real…

Except when it is not

This isn’t the life I thought I thought

Nothing I lose, nothing I gain

Reminders are a sinking mire,

Ventures consequently dire

Slap me — I’m wandering again.

*****

Side note, I asked a fellow blogger if they could feature one of my prized poems, “Writer’s Reverie”, on their blog, and they did! You can check it out here

Next stop — The Wall Street Journal! Just kidding. Still! I wanna expand my influence in a likeminded community. Who knows? 

Ushkovo Wonders: The Northern Forest

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There’s a summer estate in Russia that holds special memories for me. It’s beautiful, peaceful, hauntingly quiet, isolated, and has the type of fresh air that I didn’t yet find in America. And the light of the day stretches into the evening, as often seen in northern regions.

It’s special because I spent the best parts of my younger childhood there. Many years later, I came back…and the surge of nostalgia was the peak of my summer. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m coming there again soon. But what I have are memories, and these precious memories I will treasure forever. Cheesy as this sounds, yeah, but I think we all have places we hold dear.

*****

My dear friends!

Ever wonder what place in the world to me is dear?

It existed in my mind, yet so real

My love of it pains and sears.

*

It’s Ushkovo, the Russian northern forest

In summer, it bathes in a white night

It’s my memories that call me to it

To be there — never out of sight.

*

I’ve been there

In that everlasting night

Just a few latitudes left

Into a Laplandish night.

*

Ushokovo was always a scenic mystery

My nostalgic stays there but history

I long for it, drink it in!

My surging blood calls me there as kin!

*

My memories sifted and sore

I try to remember more

Atmospheric perspective

I take to heart the dearest and its core.

*

Tip-toeing through the forest and trees

I visualize birch and bark around me

The fresh air oh so sweet!

What I remember! What I can see!

*

Birds, moss, mushrooms, creek

Signify my secret glen

I could romp in that new world forever

Never worried, never sullen.

*

One summer house in the midst

Same as the one from forever ago

Tucked between the trees

My house is still the one I know.

*

Then as I snuggle in bed,

I feel a rumble, a distant whistle of the train

Sound echoes through the still night, out of sight,

Lingering miles through the trees and rain.

*

Dearest!

Is this place not real?

My love of Ushkovo, the northern wonder

Will never die, will never seal.

*

Ushokovo,

I love you like a homeland

You’ll remain, will you not?

Wait for me!

For you’re the one my dreams have tirelessly sought.

 

Writer’s Reverie

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Famous writers and the thinkers got some of their finest ideas from walks. I’m a writer myself, so I see how this applies.

*****

Borne of summer strolls untold

Into evenings where countless stories unfold

The road ahead was void of cars

And I alone played an orchestra to the stars

*

They shined their blessings from celestial seats

Meanwhile, I looked beyond perennial streets

Pondering clues for my desired path

For answers to a writer’s insatiable wrath

*

A scent, a sight, a cricket in the stillness rang

And suddenly, my own image, out it sprang

It lived, it breathed, it wandered like me

But would a cold-stone world accept it with the same glee?

*

I still haven’t caught the muse hiding in evening black

But it’s time I head home and turn back

The gravel below crunched, but it wasn’t me

For I walk the footsteps of another, you see…

*

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