How’s Life

Well life
is, at the moment,
absolutely gorgeous


let me fill your eyes with stars

let me fill your eyes with stars
observe those twinkling auras
that orbit the edge of the world
capture them by closing your eyes
in between each and every blink
you can have everything
everything your heart desires

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 Canary

(Image retrieved from

My scarf is stained with the canary’s blood.

Its wings flutter directly above.

A deafening song about melancholy.

I begin to run.

My heart tangles, the muscles contract,

I am breathless with pain.

I’m angry at myself.

My eyes, so pathetically shallow, limited, one-dimensional

Can only see half of the world.

I hate myself because

I have forgotten to turn around.

I have remained


On the ground.


The beautiful canary bird

Its deranged joy dancing off its open cage

A door it sees.

The silence around, surrounds,

Is a deep sin.

Watching its departure

The shining feathers, shine and shine

Flashing a deafening song of



The beautiful canary bird will not return.

Its master’s cold hands, the careless release

A life of imprisonment and its

Blind surrender to the greedy eagle’s claw.

Falling, falling towards

The point where light meets darkness

A tear in its eyes

Falling, falling a bloody fall

Slowly, and slowly

It falls.


By Kim T. (translated from a Chinese poem I’ve written earlier today)


I found out that

My feet, one after another

Could balance themselves on the thinnest wire

Suspended on skies


When I breathed

The air tasted minty

A fresh cold current sparkling in my head

My brain might sneeze


I was as big as the world

My fingers brushed the everlasting colours

I grabbed those iridescent dusts

Shaped them into a ball with my hand


It shone like a mini sun

A sun which I held

A sun which I made

Glowing and responding to the songs of my heart


Those musical notes danced across my skin

I gathered them into a plastic jar

Mixed them with true rainbows

Sealed them with a polka dot lid


They bounced off the transparent walls

Like excited children, their souls afloat

I put the jar on my desk

And stared at them for hours



Which brought in a light from the window

I took down the curtains to let it in





In the shower of light


Returning that light

With the light of my own


By K.T.


Do you define a man with his name, or his pride?

Do you define a woman with her love, or her eyes?

Do you define children with their laughter, or their daydreams?

Do you define this world with its past, or what it’s become?


Do you define defeat with failure, or your blood?

Do you define a struggle with your wounds, or your scars?

Do you define hope with its wings?

Do you define strength with power, or endurance?


Sometimes a dream is all you have

You feed on your tears

Reality wearing you thin

You refuse to be brought down

Your heart is almost dead

But still, against all odds and logic

Against life’s cruelty and things

That cannot be undone


It beats on

Maple Leaf

I will paint a maple leaf on my face

And it will be my entity

I will swing the flag over my shoulder

And it will be my cape

The mapel leaf

The way it shines in the Canadian sun

Grants me a kind of strength

Burns in me a kind of pride

I know that as I cheer with my heart in my throat

Every scream is rich with pulses and hope

Every bellow is my way to commune

With the ones on snow

The ones on ice

I will paint a maple leaf on my face

And it will be my entity

I will swing the flag over my shoulder

And it will be my cape

When you see me, you shall see that maple leaf

And you will know that even my soul beats in the exact same shape

And I know you hear it, too

Tha familiar, glorious tune:

“O Canada

My home

And native land.”

The truth north is strong.

The true north is free.

The truth north is us.

We are strong and

We are free.

We are Canadians.

Yes, we are.

(A random poem from watching all the Olympics and feeling the growing patriotism inside of me)