Honest Poem – Moral Boy

(A/N: an attempt to compose a poem out of dialogue. Quotes are taken from an actual person that I know.)

“I want a girlfriend so badly.”
A void of loneliness will never fade.
“Is it worth talking to this girl if you’re not going to date them?”
It is not worth talking to them. Because you are not worth talking to.
“Don’t you look at every woman and just choose whether or not you’d date them?”
I do not dare to assume anything. I have my flaws, and I do not judge theirs.

“You shouldn’t disrespect the Bible. Every Adam has an Eve, and you shouldn’t be alone.”
If I had to choose between perpetual solitude and your company, I would be lonely.
“Ohhh shit! You need to sabotage their relationship, bro, you totally have a chance.”
Do Christians not believe in loyalty and trust? Or is that just you?

“You’re not thinking like a father.”
I pray you will never be a father.
“I’m not transphobic, but I do not want those people in the bathroom with my daughter.”
She’s in more danger with you than she is with one of them.
“That’s just my point of view, as a Christian.

Honest Poem – Retrospect

You remember a time
when the second hands moved too slowly
There was a time
when the bell could not have rung any later
And you loved the time
where you could run in the green grass
with a smile in your wind-tossed hair
and a song stuck on repeat.

She remembers a time
when she saw the most beautiful births
There was a time
when she saw your face dawn as the circuit clicked
And she loved the time
with the boat surfing the waves of your imagination
on the open sea, entirely free.

I remember the time
when this was all still real.
There was a time
when there were twenty different open doors
And I long for the time
when we could all choose one to walk through

Honest Poem – Pudding

Cliff’s edge bites at my soles
I’m looking for some footing
trying to walk before I dance
Listen for the tick-tick of a clock
to give myself a chance

To steady, steady, thread the needle
to calm the storm, angry black clouds of
“You cannot leave us” and “How could you do this”.

Like a child’s arrhythmic toddle
towards the reassuring cool
of chocolate pudding, the sweet
and the smooth, I stumble towards

But then I remember what I deserve
And the smooth blankets become unforgiving stone
And the house becomes a cardboard box
And everyone is a specter- especially me.

The forest is no place for a child
Like I have no place in the crowd of
happy chatting people. I can run,
but the cliff will give way
to the gaping maw of my mistakes.

Clinging to the Past

Entry #13 – March 7, 2017

Dear Kath,

As evidenced by the fact that I started writing to you again with this series of thoughts, you’ve been on my mind a lot recently. When I was tasked with writing my first major short story for a creative writing class, my thoughts turned to recent reflections on my past and to my last four years in high school. Considering the viewpoints I held then and those I hold now, I wrote a heavily fictionalized and dramatized account of one memory of mine from those last four years.

You naturally played a role in that story. Of course you did, you were my best friend in the past four years. Thinking a lot about my actions then gave me insights into how badly I had messed up and a lot about how I’d become so misguided in the past two or three years. Insights and revelations turned into a fresh new regret and a terrible nostalgia. And thinking turned into journaling where I addressed you. Later, as I began having assorted thoughts, different arguments and such that I would normally have sent to you all those years ago, the idea for this series of reflections was born.

I hope it’s accomplished its goal – to amuse and intellectually engage you with several different arguments, to show you where I am now mentally if you ever wondered what became of me (I don’t ever expect you to), and to show you that I’m still not great or fantastic, but that I’m always going to try to improve myself. I’m going to be better. I swear.

This, in case you haven’t realized by now, is where I bring this little series to a close. This is me moving forward, owning my fault and my blame and letting go. I’m sorry about everything, and I’m sorry for being selfish and narcissistic in writing this as a catharsis and using my memory of you to reflect on myself. I’m not even sure if this series or my actions even impacts you, but if it ever does, you have my apologies.

When I embarked upon these essays, a friend of mine asked me if I wouldn’t be better off and if it wouldn’t be healthier to talk to a real person about my internal debates and about my personal opinions and just talking about all the different pieces of my life. And they are right, of course. I’ll be working on communicating better in the future.

Thirteen seems like a solid number to leave off, doesn’t it? I like it. It’s a good number.

A proper goodbye is in order then. Because in these twelve letters, I never said thank you. I said thank you a lot when I was sickeningly saccharine but really. Thank you. You were a true friend during a time where I felt truly, absolutely alone and frustrated and I will never, ever forget how lucky I was to have that.

In retrospect, many of my past friendships were toxic and discouraging. I hope that, in turn, I will not forget neither this one nor any of the other people who were truly positive influences on my life.

I still feel very, very lost and unsure of myself, but I feel like I’m closer to gaining some footing and sense than I have been in a long, long time.

So thank you.

I hope that if these ever reach you, or if you ever happen to read them by chance, that they find you well, happy and healthy.

And I hope that to this day, you remain true to who you are.

Goodbye, old friend. Take care of yourself.


The Life Beyond

Entry #10 – March 4, 2017

Dear Kath,

You’re still right about something. I am very, very inexperienced. 

Some would call me untested, but considering how many years I had to put up with exams, standardized and otherwise, I don’t really think that word fits me much.

Anyways. My point is that my life has been largely dominated by schoolwork and study, preparation for this current stage of life (uni). When my time wasn’t spent silently dying by brute-force memorization and menial assignments, I spent it writing or reading what I wanted to read or consuming media. My entire life has been devoted to productivity and there’s really not much room for anything else. Kind of sad, isn’t it?


This, in hindsight, is probably what you were trying to get me to avoid when you told me to get that stick out of my ass and live a little.

A “friend” of mine once said that my lack of experience was an advantage. Specifically, that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, to have a fresh naiveté and a new, more innocent point of view in a cynical world. This is something that consoled me awhile ago, but it’s something that I’ve come to disagree with in recent moments. Because while I do agree that a sprig of optimism is necessary in life, to have optimism in a state of ignorance is definitely not the answer.

So the first thing I have to do is go out and experience something new. No pressure, right?

There’s just one other thing I worry about. Because people don’t change, you told me once. They can be molded, but nothing can change the core of what they are.

What if I am, at my core, utterly hopeless?


What if I am doomed to be a sheep? To always merely be a consumer that gulps down opinions and whatever is told to me without questioning it? What if I’ll never be able to have a proper argument or debate with another person because I am far too unaware, far too pliable?

That is something that I never, ever, want to be. But reflecting at recent instances in my life, I think it is what I am right now. And that’s why I can’t really certainly say that I would never be content with a life like that- because I’ve been living with it and just dealing with it- the picture perfect definition of a sheep waiting to be herded away. Baaaaaa, motherfucker.

I don’t know. I just don’t really know what to do.

So I suppose now is the time to ask one last question.

Where do I even begin to work to be better?


Return to Regularity

Entry #1 – February 18, 2016

Dear Kath,

While I came to terms with the fact that you are gone a long time ago, I still have a lot of things on my mind and a lot to say. So I hope you don’t mind if I address some of these thoughts to you.

The one thing that I want to work on at the moment is a sense of regularity and consistency. During 2016, I’ve written less than I ever had, I’ve read less than I’ve ever had, and I’ve had the lowest amount of motivation that I’ve had in years. It feels everything I’ve built up and learned in the past few years has come crumbling down.

So the only thing I can do is build again. I have to learn the right lessons this time around, and I have to build up the good habits that I struggled to learn before, and I have to be better. And one of the things I’d like to rectify is not writing regularly. So this (daily? I don’t know how often this will update) journal will help with that.

Regularity. I think you’d like that (Remember when you wished me a normal life with a family and crazy in-laws and a white picket fence?). But before I even think about the future (whatever it is I want or will want), I should focus on the present.

In one of my low points, I wrote you a much more detailed apology. But for the sake of completion, and of moving forward, I want to apologize again for driving you to leave.

I understand why you did what you did.

I hope you’ve found some happiness and satisfaction in your life that we both lacked when we knew each other.

And I’m sorry. I hope I can honor you in how I live the rest of my life and in this work, which I address to you.


flower in the fountain

Photo credits to Jewlsies (jewlsies.tumblr.com)

He experienced everything.

His feet felt the cobblestone. It was strict, unforgiving, solid ground marred with straight borders outlining each brick. He stepped gently, as if at any moment, a stone might break through the thin canvas of his shoes and stab his heel.

He knew it wouldn’t though. The passage of time and all those people who had treaded where he now walked had worn the road much smoother than the coarse bricks that made up the houses in the tight alley around him.

He heard the scattered chatter of the people around him. Laughter, arguments, and desperate tourists trying to discern directions permeated him and he understood the arrhythmic taps of every step someone took overlapping with one another.

He breathed in the crisp air, tinged with the smell of cream sauce and the smoke of the grills inviting him to a feast. Oh, he wanted to just sit down so badly, or perhaps even go running in the sunset, away, away from his final destination. But he tiptoed on, wishing that he could still feel the burning tears cool on his cheek as they were buffeted by the air.

But he was at the end. He felt nothing and no tears came.

As he finally arrived at his destination, the maw of the path opened up into a large, rectangular courtyard lined with buildings and benches and geometric, perfectly cut patches of grass. And at one end, opposite a tan bricked building with wall-sized glass windows, was what he was here to see.

He took a seat at the stone basin of the fountain. He didn’t mind the occasional spatter of water as the fountain’s spouts continued to shoot water into the full fountain. Reaching into the pockets of his jet-black coat, he pulled out a single chrysanthemum. He twirled it around his finger tips, admired the many pink petals before leaning down. Leaving one hand on the slightly wet off white concrete of the basin rim, he gently set the flower down in the water with his other.

As it floated away merrily along the ripples of the fountain water, he smiled.

This was goodbye.

And she was finally free.

-a flash fiction to say goodbye

Order of the Soldier

I am left
unbound, freefalling
Emptier from
the loss of you

But potential flows within
untapped and unguided
A river not dammed, a
signal unheard over

Impulses twitch
Anger arises
hands grip the
Abyss, ready to
climb. Atten-hut?


There’s still a piece of you
Staunch, orderly, red
Static, burning in
my churning stomach
No longer in control

I honestly could not tell you if things
were better in the olden days
For I WAS jubilant for some of them
And dead for the many and the rest

But now the world stands before me
Limitless and free
And I want to run.

Changes and Circles

We’ve spoken to each other
Seven hundred and thirty times each
I learned who you were
over the course of two years.

Transformation is spontaneous
but gradual.
Kindness can accumulate-
as cholesterol does on an artery

You were the complete stranger
with similarly misguided instructions
The one who I never expected
To enter again, stage right

From our interactions
secrets and spirituality emerged
things that I saw buried
with our world’s core

and locked within
the neurons of my mind
hidden away from those who would taint me
and tainted anyways.

And there was acid and manipulation
Born in battle and anger
What I tried to harness for good
But just fermented on a back burner

In a fire, before the ash
The paper curls and implodes
before its final collapse.
But then it all stopped.

Because the worst way
to fall in love
is to see her pain- the gashes
in the purity of her heart.

And it can change