I have tasted
years of bitterness
that reflect themselves
in the harsh words
piercing my paper
with my quill
the one whose tip
has been dipped
in poison
pulsing from my heart
all the way to that light feather
resting between my index finger
and my thumb

I have witnessed events
that toyed with my inner child
brought out the innocent angel
whom my parents have fostered
till they met the demons
who live in me,
made peace with them since
they share
the same world
that is me

I have written
stories about fantasies
that make the world I see
a better place to be
where happiness and glee
are so abundant that people
everywhere are as high as can be
and war and chaos flee
the planet, isn’t that also
what you see?

I have been stuck between
a rock and a hard place
several times, and yet
I still found myself clawing
through the pebbles of hope
that lay in the middle
loose and pierced by sun-rays
beckoning me to breathe

I have tip toed
on the thin line of reality and
fantasy and yet I still found
enough space for my feet
to enjoy a bit of both
in moderation, for that’s the key
to your life’s satiation
what a paradox!

I have given pieces of my heart
to those who need it most
and yet I still found enough love give my heart it’s color
to let it blush
when it should, when it’s struck?

I have juggled the knives
of insults that tried to paper cut
my skin as each one fell
a hairline away from my fingers
and yet I crave the adrenaline
that comes from defying such
near pain experiences

I have melted at the sight
of beauty, of music, of art, of poetry
of words, single or together
that kind of beauty
that moves your soul
the one that coats you
with a chill
that breathes life into
your blase presence
the one that’s rustic
classic, that’s ethereal
the one that creeps under your skin
and glazes your eyes with a glossy layer
for your body cannot explain
it in any other way
cannot digest
cannot comprehend
that such pulchritude
exists and
the best part
is that
it’s real

do you feel that?
You’re still
that’s a fucking






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