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.

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.

Ducts

They sing ripened milk sacs

slung across the chest, bearing

respite for a weary head to lean onto,

nourishment gathered by The Rib itself,

and love, a sweetly overflowing fountain

savored among the world’s sisters.

If ever you need to exchange

one heart for the other,

you so self-unaware,

you’ll find me crying

like a fussy infant babe

long overdue for its sleep…

Manifest Secret

woman s index finger on her lips
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As I tell us my story of you,

The tension of your omnipresence spills

All over the tangible world

Like a child splattering its wholesome glory

Over a ripe canvas.

Everywhere I am,

You are —

For the trees to breathe in,

For my father to hear my giddy delight,

To guffaw with my friends,

For you to oust my secret stories

Out of the woodworks.

For the mountain-tops

To rejuvenate the air

And draw a portrait

Of you.

The ripple has ceased,

Longing has eased —

One of those dilly-dallying days

If I think of you again,

I need only spread my tendrils

And grin.

The Truth About “Artists”

I’ll try to make this quick because I have homework to get to, but first I thought I’d let you know something. Also because it’s coffee hour for me after attending college in the city all day.

“Poetic.” “Aesthete.” “Artistic.” These are the terms others have dubbed me. I get it — I am working for a degree in the humanitarian sector of the workforce. When I’m doing homework, my mind is trying to cobble up a tap dance choreography to an invigorating jig that I can perform in front of an awestruck crowd. I stare at beautiful pictures of models and actors like they’re paintings from the Louvre. I will literally stop in the middle of a walkway to observe the cherry blossoms fall above me, and I stand like that for hours. Any heartbreak takes me months to get over. And if I’m not actually writing poetry, I wax poetic to my exasperated sister on the way home from college on how my crush looked at me the wrong way today or how I’m surrounded by idiot NPCs every day who should really go to Safeway to buy ingredients for a better life, or how I sobbed my way out of my latest existential crisis or how no one likes me, or if they do, they aren’t substantial enough, or…

No, I get it. Labels are superficial, and while I don’t take them seriously, I realize this much about myself. I can’t live life without observing it through aesthetic lenses.

But what I also previously assumed about myself…is totally wrong. I used to think that aestheticism enables me to find beauty in  everything.  That means finding beauty inside of people, not just in obscure models whom I don’t even know personally. I thought being an aesthete would make me a good judge of personality.

Wrong.

I’ve noticed a pattern every time I fall in love, whether on real live people or whether it’s on models. All my objects of affection…they’re all physically beautiful in some way. Otherwise they have a tendency to look a lot like me. Ask my friends — they’ll tell you that the pictures of them stashed on my phone have the same haircut as me, same facial as me, same fashion statement etc.

That’s right — I’m a narcissistic bastard. Mum wasn’t wrong when she said she noticed a high percentage a poets she knew in her life based much of their craft on themselves.

Isn’t it ironic, then, that as much as I bemoan guys for calling me beautiful when they express their interest in me, appearance is the #1 factor for me that piques the most significant amount of interest towards someone?

And look, I’m not saying that appearance shouldn’t be an important factor in choosing your friends or life partner. It is. But when I examine my own judgements of people, I realize that I overestimate the quality of people when they’re beautiful just for being beautiful while I vastly underestimate their inner qualities. Of course, I do my best to find out who people really are inside.

But let’s be real: I have a wayyy higher favorability bias towards beautiful people at first sight than if they weren’t. Don’t even get me started on last year when I had multiple nervous breakdowns because I saw someone absolutely gorgeous on campus when I haven’t even met that person. Really wreaked havoc on my mental health. If that’s not an extreme case of bias, I don’t know what is.

Bottom line? I glorify beauty, but how much is too much? At what point does glorifying appearance became superficial, especially when my object of affection looks a lot like me?

I don’t have the answer to all these questions since I’m still figuring myself out. I just thought I’d let you know that artistry comes with a darker side. Trust me, I know. I’ve been heartbroken many more times than I could count because “aesthetically beautiful” didn’t live up to my standards. It’s common sense to not judge anyone by their looks, but why I still can’t stop lusting after physical appearances, I don’t know.

I’m not saying all aesthetes have such tendencies, or non-aesthetes aren’t going to go gaga over the next sexy lady in their frat circle. But I know who I am, and I can attest this lived experience to you.

As I like to say: want to know whether someone is a narcissist? Ask them if they’re a poet.

 

 

 

 

In Dedication

IMG_20180506_000702992 (1)

I just had to finish this poem today. But then, I just had to procrastinate from homework at the same time, you get me?

*****

I may not have much

But I have a world of love

Much I have naught

But I have this tenet to prove

That my heart holds a breadth

Ne’er short of inner wealth

That the shine that wealth prolonged

Will give me you, to whom I always belonged

*

I’ll give you my world

For the moon is waning and unfit

Walk you through a balmy standstill of a night

Adiemus — can you hear It?

I’ll give you a song of my feeling’s worth

One you’d never know or miss

Your aura makes me replete

Stand still — I’ll blow you a kiss!

*

I’ll give you the scenery, for it sings of you

To which it triggered senseless hope

That I’m here for your love

But to what scope?

I’ll give you my state of mind

For I’m scared, but otherwise my mind is one infernal

I’ll give you my soul

Old as time, fiery as life eternal

 

Barren Beauty

David_von_Michelangelo

*****

Hand crossed over her bosom unabashed,

The full-fledged figure

Was clothed in ivory unmasked

*

He posed steely and strong

All his muscles glowed a-brazen

In throes of calm victory you bask and belong

*

Artwork incarnate…

*

It must stay hidden, for it’s never free

All bargain for one, two, their share

While from it — I flee

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? 

Is the Outer Dark Reflecting Our Inner Souls Again?

I don’t even know how to describe this.

*****

The sun’s time to sleep

Earlier is nigh

Meanwhile at home,

My soul is dry.

I’ve had a share of days,

Bad were few

But in this time

The sun knew

How to capture my inner sense

Of disturb, and distrust.

And of depression,

To be sad I must

Of every fleeting thought

That ruffles me.

“Fie!” I say,

“The dark is just for sleep

To hibernate a while

Then awake

In glory, peace and a waning smile.”

*****

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