a cognizance of apathy


It was an unremarkable day, as I remember,

and I was walking home, I think, around October – 

the wounds had not fully healed yet, still they were sore to touch – 

I stopped in my steps as the wind picked up, the sun already beginning to set, and thought: 

this is the road we’ve walked too many times before, when home was in a person and not the run-down sickly yellow 

house I am now slowly making my way to and when 

was the last time our steps were in sync – when

had he left for good? The goodbye that came after was a formality, wasn’t it, and can science explain

the ache that is straining

throughout my chest; can I ask how it was that my world had ended, it seemed, that night, but here I am with the breeze tangling my hair, 

with the sun about to set – and rise, in another part of the world, and be seen for the last time, as it was for some; for many; my agony is nothing compared –

and I’m still hearing laughter, somehow, still seeing couples with their mouths stretched to the biggest smiles, I the unbelieving spectator separated

with the help of these glass walls – they are living, aren’t they, happily making

memories, while I try to erase each moment away and they’re chuckling

their way to tears

and here I was – standing in the middle of a breeze,

the street uncaring

for what it conjures inside of me; the houses that bore witness to intertwined fingers and never-ending stories staring

blankly, now – blood is spilling

and places are explored and there is chaos and wonder and who cares for heartbreak?

Who cares for a victim of naivete?


How I Fell For Poetry #NaPoWriMo


April is National Poetry Month! I did sign up for NaPoWriMo to get myself to write poetry everyday for the whole month of April but… well, I’m not very good at consistency. Besides, I feel as if treating poetry as an obligation in the name of its celebration contradicts to why I grew to love poetry in the first place. Which, a few years back, spoiler alert: I didn’t.

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a metaphor for the complexity of being


I take the roles
the world demands me
to fill:
edges, rising
to the very
brims, overflowing
the vessels I
am in,

from fingers and
flowing down roads;
seeping into
skin. I come from

the heavens and
I rise from earth;
I bless the soils
and I tear off
roofs from your homes.

I am oceans
I am the seas
of bounty. I am
the rain you have
rejoiced in; I
am the storms you’ve
cursed and feared. I
am limitless,
infinite, more

than what you will
ever perceive.


Featured image: Alyssa Monks (American, b. 1977, Ridgewood, NJ, USA) – Trust, 2010  Paintings: Oil on Linen

Happy National Poetry Writing Month! Will be posting daily poetry – either mine or another author’s – for the whole month of April. Join in! #NaPoWriMo



Like mold, a secret only grows in the dark. Nourished by tears shed with a hand clamped over my lips, the secret grows, crawling up my ribcage, until it is up my throat begging for my tongue to push it out to sunlight. All that is left are the proper words to confess. Say, I am vulnerable, and it makes me strong. Say, I’ve been through this; I need to let it out and let you know. Say, this – right here – is where I am broken and the cracks are not easy to see. Be careful: it’s either I hurt you or you hurt me.

I could not utter them. I settle for whispers that gradually grow louder and louder. I hold on to the promise of perhaps: the possibility that the day will come and the darkness no longer hides something that eats away at my bones.



It won’t be long until our footprints
vanish from view. Our fingerprints are wiped,
our signatures will fade from pages; our existence leaving no trace.

Call it cruel that I make sure I remain remembered –
By God, I will be
unforgettable – haunting you and other discarded lovers at dusk and dawn – a nostalgic fantasy –
a surreal reality –
a ghost of the touch that you relished – an echo of the voice that still fills your ears; the muse of your lovestruck poems, your stumbling songs, your hidden obsession with the naive universe
where the vows of forever
remained wholly fulfilled.
Though now my name sits daintily on your tongue in a sentence strung of curses,
you unwittingly give me the satisfaction
of being the bitter aftertaste
get rid of.

Hatred will be the scar that will
remember; it’ll
be the one
you will always wear.

I’ve cut a place in your heart.
You’ll carry me to your grave.

Photograph: Ha Gyung Lee aka Naki aka Ha Gyung (Michelle) Lee (Korean, b. Korea, based CA, USA) – Metamorphosis ■ Digital Arts

Anchors Away


a ship sailing out to explore oceans
uncharted will have crashing,
disruptive waves, apocalyptic; premonitions
beginning of endings in foreboding.
my love, you will get through this in the same way you learn to sleep through thunderstorms and rough journeys,
awakening to welcome the next day’s
gift of warm sunlight, clear skies, and smooth seas,
starry nights and views that are of a dream:
with knowledge that it will pass eventually –
with all hope redeemed.