Poetry · Randomness


You could never get enough of that ugly feeling.

That giddiness as you stand in a cliff built out of such anger.

That high of which you are drunk off dissatisfaction, driven mad by that single imperfection you can’t seem to find, that blazing passionate anger of all there is around you.

This discontent made you happy.

The meaning of progress, the reason behind your success.

This ugly feeling.

This vertigo as you stand there, a step away from falling into those pitch black depths of the ocean called content.

You were too far gone into this abyss, there was no other way to move and you couldn’t stop now.

This discontent was the only driving force behind you and you couldn’t let that go.

Not yet in the least.

But  even then, there was always a different feeling that lingered, that voice in your head  that would scream “Jump.”

You wished that you could.





I am the Universe.
I am your sky, your earth, your ocean.
I am you.

I have known you for thousands of years before your birth.
I know that now is the time you will come into existence, and I want to tell you one thing before you leave this place.

Humans are amazing things.
You tell stories to instill the feeling of awe in our children, you gaze at our beautiful moonlit skies, imagination taking over as you plan your next great adventure.

The beauty in this world, you’ll make within the oppressive limitations of reality and death and impermanence.

The possibilities are infinite, every life we live, every living creature has an entirely unique experience, a new story being written down in the pages of a great novel encompassing the world,
The sights you’ll see, the sounds you’ll hear, the never-ending curiosity and your capability for love.
The lives that you live are so complicated and yet so simple

I can’t wait for you to join them in this great big world of ours.

And that’s why I need you to know that every moment you spend loving yourself, that is me  loving you and loving being you.

Because you’re going to be someone extraordinary.

I just know it.


Flowers for the Second

Forget-me-not – Memories

Your hands clutched the letters to your chest, rereading every one of them.

The paper was old and yellowed, the ink dried and fading.

These were the letters your father had sent to your mother that you found in a single locked handmade box.

Your mother gave you the key.

The final letter from your father to your mother had your name written on its pages.

The ink had not dried.
The paper was still new.

This was the letter your father had written before he died.

The final page had your mother’s handwriting.
Prim and proper and beautiful like she was before.

To you, my son.
My only wish for you is to find a woman who you will spend your life with.
To find someone you will love for the rest of your life.
Someone who will love you even with your faults.

All we wish for is you to be happy and love someone as much as we loved each other.

Under those letters laid twin rings, words that you would understand years later etched into the golden bands.

These were their rings, left behind to be passed on for generations to come.

These were their rings, left behind for you to remember them.

Your mother’s favourite flower was always the forget-me-not.
Hawthorn- Hope

The garden was a magical place, even more so in the moonlight.

You would spend your days there, walking the grounds that your parents walked on.

You would spend your nights there, exploring the terrain that no one but your parents walked on, retracing their steps.

The forest was a labyrinth, the one that your father had gotten lost in.

The one where your mother found him.

These paths were the ones your parents walked.

These were the paths that brought them together.

You couldn’t help but hope that these paths would do the same for you.

You couldn’t help but hope that you would find someone to call the garden “Ours” together with you.

Almond Blossom- Contemplation.

“Will you still love me, in spite of my defects?
I am blind, I am imperfect.
Will you still love me despite all that?”

She stared into the open skies, dyed with a jet black colour from her perspective.

“I don’t understand.
You, who is perfect.
You, who has no defects, love me.
Of all people.
A blind girl.
Why me?”

Your reply stayed the same.

“Because you are perfect the way you are.
No matter what, I will still love you.”

Her hand was in yours, the rings wrapped around you finger.

These were rings of promise.

These were promises of unconditional love.
Purple Hyacinth- Fogiveness | Gillyflower- Lasting Beauty
You are standing in the garden, by her side.

Everything seemed to come alive that night.

The moon’s glow seemed brighter than it was before and the flowers flourished under its light

‘Oh, look around love! The flowers have bloomed tonight.
Its beautiful.
Just like you!’

She takes your hand.

How long had it been?

You sat with your back against the cypress tree that you parents had planted so many years ago.

Your hand rested against the stone, by her side.

The garden was still so beautiful, even after so many years.

The periwinkles glowed amongst the pink and white roses that you had planted when you two were younger.

Oh, how you wished you could turn back time.

You held the primrose in your hand, the golden band still shining despite its age.

I miss you.



You watched from the doll’s eyes as people passed by the shop.
No one had entered, few only turning to see what was there beyond the window.

There was a sinking bitterness in you, feeling as if you were meant to remain there for the rest of your life.

The gentle sound of the bells drew you out of your musings.

There, before you, was a child.

“Mama! Mama! Look!”

A woman made her way to the child’s side.


The child gestured to you wildly, smiling in excitement.

“It’s really really pretty! Can I have it?”

The woman sighed, and took you from the shelf.
Smiling at the child, she brought you to the cashier.

An elderly couple stood behind said cashier, muttering something under their breath with a smile.

“I think you’ll be happy with them.”

You fell into a small plastic bag, taken to who knows where with the child blabbering about something that happened before this event to his mother.

Apparently, the child’s name was Alexis.

They had taken you everywhere around the house, even then, to their own school.

Not a day had passed when the child did not take you with them.

Annoyance had filled your entire being.
The old geezer had said “You’d be happy with them”

Yeah right.

Alexis’ blabber had taken the place of the silence you were so comfortable with.

It irked you to no end.
Until this very day, you would never fathom the prospect of you warming up to the obnoxious child.

You lay there, on the bed listening to the kid’s chatter as there was nothing you could do in that form.

“—You know? I couldn’t have had a friend as great as you are.”

A sardonic laugh bubbled from Alexis’ lips.

“It gets kinda lonely in school y’know?
It makes me glad that I found you.
It’s a lot less lonely now.”

You watch from the doll’s eyes as the child’s voice cracks a bit.

Alexis picks you up, your tiny body being cradled in the child’s hands.

“I wish you could talk.
I want to know what having a friend truly feels like.”

The child smiles.

“But, so long as you’re here with me, that’s fine too.”

A feeling of guilt bubbled up in your chest.
You wanted to say “I’ll be your friend.
I promise you won’t be alone anymore”

The feeling of annoyance washed away.

So this what was it was like to have a friend.
This was what the old geezer meant.

Somehow the kid found out what you truly were.
A spirit in a doll’s body.

You were so worried about what Alexis would say about you, anxiety pulsing through your nonexistent veins as the child sat there.

Your mind was plagued with a single thought.

Does Alexis hate me?
I don’t want them to hate me.
Please don’t hate me.

I still want to be your friend

“Do you want me to help you get out of there?”


You were brought out of your silent musings, the child talking in a particularly relaxed tone.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, and I wish you could tell me, but don’t you feel sad or anything?
Don’t you wanna leave?
Mom used to tell me lots of stories about ghosts like you.”

You wished you could speak too.
You wanted the child to have a real human friend.
You wanted to escape the handmade prison.

But the world wasn’t fair that way, and in the end it was for the best that you had accepted your fate and moved on.

You did move on.
You learned to accept.
The bitterness that had collected over the past few years left.

You wanted to stay.
You were satisfied like this.

So long as Alexis was okay.
So long as the person that you had grown to love was okay,
Then that was fine.

The heart of cloth began to beat again and the spirit that was you had learned to love.

I want to stay with you.
Alexis had grown to become such a beautiful person.

You stayed by your friend’s side throughout the years, the colours of the silks wrapped around the doll’s body slowly fading.

You grew with Alexis.

Alexis grew with you.
Years after that, Alexis had found another friend, one that you observed in silence and resigned yourself to the fact that your friend of many years loved another.

So long as your friend was happy, then that was okay.

Even if you had to watch from the sidelines, so long as Alexis was happy, then that was okay.


You laid on the desk by the candlelight, cloth faded and battered, faint sounds of laughter echoing throughout the house you were once so familiar with.

Your spirit flickered in and out of existence, your time was running out.

You wanted to stay.
To watch over Alexis.

But Alexis was so grown up already.
Alexis had found a friend.

The child you once knew had grown into a beautiful person and eventually, loved a person as beautiful as she was.

A final feeling flickered through your being.


“Thank you for being my friend.”
“I love you”
————The End————

Poetry · Uncategorized

Those Ivory Keys

Every single day you’d find yourself back at the piano, gazing at its sleek black coat and untouched ivory keys.
You’d find yourself back at its seat, fingers raised to play a song.

Then you’d look to my hands after you’ve snapped out of that daze.
They’re covered.
In scars. After the surgery.

And you hesitate.
Because you don’t want to taint the purity of the piano.
With hands that are scarred and rough.

You leave.

Only to return.
Only to curse because of your own disability forced by Lady Fate.
You’d then remember the old days.
Full of music that these hands used play.

Something wet falls from your eye.
Arms wrap around your own and you feel his breath on your shoulder.
“The piano has waited.
For hands to play the song on its keys.
Hands that are willing to let it sing again.
I believe it’s time to let it do so, no?”

He wipes my tears away, kisses you on your cheek and you turn to gaze at him.

Only to meet his smile.

“Come on” he offers

“I’ll guide you.”

And you let him.

“It’ll be alright.”

There’s no need to be afraid.

Seconds after, the silence is broken by the song of the piano.
And you find yourself smiling.

You turn around to hug him or show whatever sign of gratitude that had settled in you.

Only to meet empty air.

And you finally wake.
On the hospital bed, crying.

It was just a dream.