we’re someone else

the way growing up works

is that we grow up to be unmade

if only to be made again, anew;

and it happens to all of us

at least once:

first we are ourselves and then

for some strange reason

we become somebody else

not who we thought we were

not what people said we were

but the way we were, have always been and

the way we now are.


this is what evolution means


For the past two weeks I have gorged 

down textbook after textbook, 

fed myself sheets of notes

until I could no longer be fed.

My desk is splattered with spoonfuls of my vomit, 

chunks of semi-digested knowledge

slimy and sizzling hot 

with my stomach acid.


I can’t help 

but think that us students, we’re some sort of 

creature, something temporarily deformed 

and blazingly insane. Because 

after all this superfluous brain damage 

it’s amazing that 

we are still able to evolve 

into something else, each and every

one of us, evolving into something else entirely. 

Who I used to be.

Her world revolved around perfection,

balanced on top of her surreptitious efforts

to avoid annihilation. Too many mouths to feed, too many

demands, too many dead-ends, too many what-if’s,

too many if-only’s—she was burdened by a meta-awareness

that reverberated through the sully caves

of her battered soul. She lied to herself to survive,

questioned every little detail of her life,

examined everything with fanatical care

and predicted, enacted every possible predicament

in her pretty little head for she was scared

by the things she thought she knew.


Should she fail,

the universe would shatter, a glass castle besieged

by an army of ghosts, and people’s faces

would darken, a darkness that she gravely feared,

would fall. There would be no redemption, only perdition.

Her very heart, held wholesome and beating

by this pitiful fragility, pumped wearily against

her mellow ribcage, in the shadows. To not care

meant to tread on thorny roads, to move mountains

with her bare hands, to drink a river dry with spoon.


Yet she heard it; she heard it constantly: step into

the light. Embrace the sun. She yearned for it. Yearned

for that light that would set her free—and one day she was saved—

saved her from the claws that were

etched in her flesh and she watched the chains around her

feet come undone and joy come pouring through the chasm of

darkness, a shower of golden energies, an ever-shining

rain that cleansed her anew, and made her see

the beauty, the perfection of imperfections and herself.

A world where nothing mattered and everything mattered and

she doesn’t give a damn because she is who she is. She

doesn’t care if she fails or if she makes a fool of herself,

because aren’t we all fools when we think we look like fools,

because aren’t we all human when we try to be above and beyond,

because aren’t we already the best of who we are

if we simply just be.

I was a perfectionist, and perhaps I still am. You have no idea how difficult life is when you’re a perfectionist. But recently, I’ve changed. Why should I care? Why do I care? There are too many things I can’t control in life and I don’t want to be just merely surviving, I want to be living. I’m not scared anymore. I’m free.

The world I used to know

Gradual realizations trickle

down my heartstrings, corrosive,

bereaving, and I collapse, enervated

from the growing stench of  rotten

bones, fetid clots of the mind and

the world’s insurrection.

Because things are different now.

My knees melt into earth as I

struggle to breathe in oxygen

through this thick stifling imposition of reality–

people leaving, transofrming, ceasing into

intangible shadows, fading from my knowledge,

beyond my reach. I lament over

their indiscriminate renunciations, their

powerless surrender, their youthful luminance

confiscated by the hands of humanity.

I watch

the sterilization of life

fields of imagination lost to the

sputtering ghosts; those venomous

thieves; life’s artifice.



water bends stone

wind cuts through mountains

and moonlight ignites the night

like a silver sun



mind ripples through time

heart carves out a world

and a kiss alters time


Because we learn

to endure.

Found this one in one of my old writing journals… 😀

So She Sits There

So she sits there, poised, her elbows resting

On the arms of a mahogany chair;

The bangs of her hair are arranged just at

The right degree—at ease and comfortably slanted—

In order to cast a protective shade

Over the cold uncertainty that still flickers in her eyes.


Her fingers, interlocking, is an attempt

To stop herself from yearning for a hand to hold,

And she sits there, with her legs crossed

To trick those muscles into forgetting

What it was like to walk beside him

Under the cherry blossom trees.


Such wondrous, magnificent poetry. 


So she sits there. With great consideration and precision,

She tugs away the floating anxieties of a girl, shoves the

Boisterous quirkiness into silence, and her innocent appreciations

Into carefully chosen interests that represent womanhood.

Abruptly, she redefines herself through the power of will,

And avoids mirrors at all cost.


So she poses for the camera, purposefully,

Occupying this moment with her practiced grace.

This picture, after it’s been transferred, cropped,

Colour-toned and uploaded onto her Facebook page

Is meant to be adored.


An intelligent dreamer at her best.


As she obscures the truth with a smile and

Mends the ever-changing world with meticulous

Automatic correction, like Microsoft Word underlining

A sentence that is grammatically awkward, or

A word that is misspelled. The brilliant intricacies of her mind

Delete and reinsert the letters of reality—

Ushering the story towards its rightful conclusion,

Against all odds.


This is how it’s supposed to end.


So she sits there, poised, like a wounded goddess

Falling out of love, the same way she’s fallen into love

Waiting to be seen, wanting to be remembered

Dreaming of becoming the thing he has lost.

The Sky Castle

(taken from Photobucket)


It was only for a second

But my eyes were caught

The corner of a shifting cloud

The accidental brush of the wind that revealed

Laputa’s castle walls

Glorious with layers of mythology

Centuries of adoration and

Dark amber coloured stones glistening next to the sun


I opened my arms like a silly bird

Outstretched wings

The sky loomed so incredibly wide

The voluminous air so full and rich with dreams

It was difficult to breathe that all in


But I managed

As I counted the golden stars

Resting on my brow like sweat

And I cried for what I never had.


By Kim T.