A Different Type of Jubilee

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Moments that meant something

Even when I thought they didn’t — then.

A practice in mindfulness never endeavored,

Only memories as evidenced by my trusty pen.

And I know limerence flitted somewhere in my mind

So painful but oh look, how I’ll respond in kind!

***

I lunged through early morning shadow woods

High on life, or as the hicks say, “tripping on acid.”

And that’s with nary a wink or shuteye or sleep

My revolutionary ideas — none too placid.

A scheme! A scheme! On how to confess a lover

‘Tis my breadth of life, ’tis my ultimate fodder.

***

And when I bantered with my friend into the night

The cards and psychedelic music meant — game on!

And sometimes in my absurdist state

I’d stare at her ceiling and catch whereupon,

A whiff of the air that for once isn’t home

But in someone else’s where my soul will roam.

***

So, right…that staring contest with the ceiling?

I did that too, in days lovelorn’d.

Till I remembered there existed a world outside me

While I lie and lay, sat and scorned.

All these unprecedented jubilees — what is the scope of their power?

But they’re all I have, and they I revisit in my darkest hour.

Cross Country Season

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The sun shrugged its temperamental rays

onto dancing dandelions — if I remember.

Weeks of cramps finally swelled high in my lungs

As I jogged alongside the turf,

miles behind the real victors of the season.

Heave-ho.

Heave-ho.

I was in a mood today.

A corny song of childish love rattled in my head

to the rhythms of the swaying inhabitants

dotting the side of the highway.

“Alyssa, mon ami…

Alyssa, mon cheri…”

A guitar, freshly plucked, backs the ambience

from the likes of my therapist’s office

and warns me about the gentle drop of leaves

well into Californian winters.

God knows, our former running aficianado needed it more

because this year, she was no longer with us.

I think I saw her crying about it last summer,

o road of the autumnite marathon mock-ups.

Whom else am I wought to share my memories with

except with ghosts of my idyllic past

lounging around somewhere in the local playground?

…and so, the streth stretched out into a hill

down which I tripped, traipsed and skipped

so I could tell the team and the day: I tried.

Shin splints are retractable, but

who will help me replace the stone

in my heart, sown of autumn semblances

on a familiarly new road that

begged for new memories to bloom

and mutual friends to rein it in?

I was in a mood today.

Changeling

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I glided across the sidewalk in chiseled harmony

And a rhapsody above me played

A restless song of strings and scherzoes

Until classtime brought to a halt my private parade.

*

Weather warps are rapid, here in Pleasantville —

A sauna day outside from fair-winter fans

Indeed, to blast me some of its coolness

As false relief trickles through my veins.

*

Teacher can tell me all that fell on naught

That eventually, one day, I’ll come to rue;

But for now I’ll the harvest this season’s limelight

Featuring perfectly, fearfully, made-fully…you.

Mirage


Waves of post-summer heat

rippled through afternoon’s lonely lil’ lot

like the contractions in my chest

and rhythmic pounding of tennis shoes

against the sun-weary gravel,

feet carried by the languid shrug

of a melody spilling over my life span

or at least what I know of it till now.

The buzz of anticipation

offers no solace

in seeing the one I love and fear

materialize into my mind

before finalizing into the

painful notion called “reality.”

And yet, I requisite no action either

for whatever is realer than my real

is all the worse for my chakra.

And I ponder all this

while the heat strikes my blazer

worn to reflect my image reincarnate —

arose

like the tears in my eyes

that turned the vicinity blue and green —

and crashed

bringing down a cacophony of

memories and snippets and anything

substantial.

And so I’m

running running running

as yesteryear’s autumn shadows

slink in front of my path.

Perchance,

what a pleasure to see all and nothing

in the sad summer heat.

At least I see color again.

And with that said,

I bravely meander

from bomb-shelter of a school to the car,

for today’s survival game is complete.

In the meanwhile

I pray I won’t spill my guts,

and with them

my feelings for you

borne out of freak chance

and absurd timing.

Love, they say

I was rummaging through my old notes from summer course when I found this little random epiphany written on a sheet of paper. Revised for clarity.

People and media romanticize falling in love a lot. I understand the hype, but for me, it’s so hard to deal with.

I don’t love — I become hyper-aware. I am obsessed. Worried. Tense. Paranoid. Depressed. And very, very anxious.

The last time “love” happened to me:

  • I endured some of the worst panic attacks in my life.
  • I had thoughts of self-harm.
  • I hallucinated in my sleep.
  • I disengaged from my friends.
  • I cried so hard I threw up.
  • In fact, I was throwing up everywhere I went, pretty much.
  • Lost my appetite and nearly passed out.
  • Had chronic stomachaches.
  • Had chronic anxiety attacks that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy
  • Had intrusive thoughts 24/7.
  • Had depression.

Looking back, now only does it sound funnier when I read this stuff aloud but I wonder why I went so gaga over that specific person. Maybe it was my firsthand assumptions about them or that they looked like a work of art in human form. If that’s so, it doesn’t explain why the symptoms were so…paradoxical.

Why do I react the way I do? My sister knows and she contends that it’s insane. Even I know it.

I don’t have answers to that. Such is the wild, unpredictable nature of love.

This person exists. Perhaps that should be reason enough.

But…

I be sure to take every painful situation as a learning curve.

I remember watching a Twilight Zone episode where a woman kept running away from some creepy man that seemingly stalked her across the country, and she kept calling out for help to the local passerbys that she encountered. although no one believed her. Near the end of the show, our protagonist, about half dead with fright, tried to contact the phone operator to put her on the line with her mother. The response was, “(Name of mother) has been crying over her daughter’s recent death.”

It hit her: she was dead all along. She just didn’t know how to accept Death — the same Death who was the creeky stalker, by the way, that was following her across the country, beckoning her to follow him into the afterlife with minimal fuss.

I narrate my life with parallels such as these, so let me explain. Before, I was the terribly insecure, desperate, love-starved girl who kept phoning the operators of Fate to give me the love I so craved and thus rescue me from withering away into a lonely, lonely life.

Then the operator picked up.

“Tiffs is suffering from excessive anxiety and thus can’t qualify to our Matchmaking line right now.”

Just as our protagonist realized the truth about herself, I realized mine: I was in intense pain. Fate, disguised as a lurking doom-and-gloom singleness, was merely beckoning me to put aside my love worries and continue on with my life, single but pain-free, even though I initially fought against him.

Accepting Fate’s advice wasn’t going to be easy, but knowing the truth about myself might just be the thing to strengthen me until I’m truly mentally ready to accept the next lovebug that comes my day through the series of coping mechanisms I developed after my precious experiences.

The truth? It doesn’t matter whether you have someone or not. What matters most is how at peace you are with your state of mind. That is the only way to feel authentic happiness.

You can’t be that lonely if you’re at peace with yourself first. Right?

But…ya know. All the millennial girl bloggers ever have probably said the exact same thing as I have. We’re so similar it’s disgusting. xD

Quotes that I made up

In case you ever need inspiration from quotes. I composed them all by myself, by the way, so trust me when I say you’re not gonna any corny-ass Marilyn Monroe quips from here.

– It’s not your successes that define you but the bravery to pick yourself up and try one more time.

– You haven’t failed enough until you actually succeeded.

– If you want to know someone with mental issues, ask them if they’re a poet.

– If everything goes well for too long, something is definitely wrong.

– Don’t drive when in love.

– Sometimes the best teacher is yourself.

– Always have a plan B.

– Keep wondering about everything. Chances are, you can write a bestseller with the answers you come up with.

– My friends would be good Christian girls. My best friends would be weird-ass punk introverts.

– Stop people on the streets and ask to take a picture of their clothes. Email growing channels with questions they’d love to answer. Take the initiative to do something you never did. You aren’t living your life to the fullest unless you’re the instigator.

– If I have to be depressed, then at least I’ll be depressed with style.

– Life isn’t about attaining the ultimate rose-colored life. It’s about making the best out of what we already have.

– If it’s too easy you’re doing it wrong.

– Life wasn’t made to overcome you. You were made to overcome life.

– Life’s a bitch. But God is still good.

– The only way to truly be yourself is to break out of the mold your role model designed for you.

– Writing is 1% actual writing and 99% figuring out how to write.

– Sometimes all you can do is the best you can ever do.

– Am I normal or is everyone else just crazy?

– Your vulnerability invigorates me. I’d like to slip you into my heart and hold you there forever.

Pipe Dream

orange petaled flower
Photo by Evie Shaffer on Pexels.com

 

The air weans in partings of a summer breeze

But nay if it hasn’t swept in a lovelorn fear, or some,

At which I gaze in disconcerted ease.

*

It’s cold here. It’s cold here. I keel, then I’m numb;

That only you’d lie your love onto me — that I’d fain

In a frenzied season’s past, a past my pain is from.

*

One flitting thought, a thousand strolls purged in vain;

‘Tis the consequence of your haunting face,

So sweet my perfume smells like pain.

*

What now? No fear, no sense, no rush, no pace,

My game carried on in unlimited breadth;

I can’t wait forever, but I can’t win time’s race.

*

And so, my eyes faded in recurring death,

I pass you my final requiem on the fog of my breath…

Yours,

Yeah, the comma after the end of the title isn’t a mistake. 

Tried to make this one a variation of the Petrarchian sonnet.


Laced with heart’s wild and warm-blooded

Hymns of praise and pure,

Stray thoughts spurt like a fountain top,

And all its sweetly pleasures do they rain.

You’re warmer than blood,

Closer than flesh,

I wish to the Aether each day afresh

That your revelation was not in vain.

*

Every spirit of the living air,

Every mirage holds a light

To your ghostly countenance

And breathes life into me anew.

It shimmies down my veins

Into yearnful elations

As I utter you my finest proclamations:

“Can I keep you?”

Breathe Me Alive

affection american asian woman beautiful
Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Pexels.com

One glimpse

and I want to

stroke your face

up and out,

round and about,

like the masseur at the spa.

Cup your face against my palm

and I’ll trace your veins as they

lead to your heart —

but maybe I’ll contend with

ticking you on the underarms

instead.

*

Is it wrong that I want to

entwine my body around yours

till you’re close

close

close

to my core,

to the soul hidden beneath my soul

and our pulses beat as one

and I can just maybe,

perhaps…

breathe you in?

*

Please cradle me

so I can snuggle my ear to your chest

and hear an lively ocean

surging inside,

and I’ll know you’re real

when I fall asleep

and all my realities become a dream

as your body beside me fills my lungs

with your scent.

Remember butterfly kisses? The ones where

we’re so close our eyelashes

are touching?

They’re now goldfish nips

because now I’ll cover your face

with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

*

Maybe one night

under the covenant of

a balmy evening

I’ll introduce you to the star-struck sky

because it’s always watching.

I’ll kiss your nose

so that my blessing will extend

down to the tips of your toes.

And while your breath is still fresh on mine

I’ll trace your lips

so that with mine, I’ll imprint onto you

my fiercest declaration:

you belong to me,

and I

to you.

 

Lavender Poodle

First, some news. I am taking a Poetry course at my college, and the prompt was to write about an ordinary object that transformed in some way. And is has to be free verse. Now knowing me (and all my poems on here so far), I don’t write free verse very often because it’s not my favorite poetry style to write in. But so much contemporary American poetry is free verse. Crazy! I much prefer rhyming scenes, but okay then. So I wrote Lavender Poodle based on the prompt.

Second: I’ve written my first guest post! I found lifesfinewine when she liked one of my posts. She writes inspirational quotes, issues on psychological health and positivity, and promotes guest bloggers. So I offered to write a guest post. And guess what? It seems that some people really seem to like it… ;). Check it out here!

*****

She was the the color of her scent

when Mom popped her in for introductions;

she was stuffed full of lavender fragrances

when she crowned my bedside that night;

and one whiff takes me take to Zen zone

intro a headspace I long…forgot.

Crying,

weeping,

sullen,

pining,

I spilled all

the night I cradled my poodle

as though I cradled my long-lost love…

I breathed in the scent

and I forgot all

because I just…

fell…

asleep…

I lost my little poodle one day

I know not where,

all I have is

her heart —

her bean-bag, lavender heart

filled with my love and pain,

and it still pulses

with lavender residue

when I microwave it

and cradle it

like I cradle a long-lost love.