FLOWERS WALK

morning petals pressed 

against heated skin 

and the way her sweetness 

catches you off guard 

all day long,

made you stretched the sky 

with a brush of her words, 

with a hand full of sprightly tulips.

you smiled at the tiniest petal

caught in her hair. 

and like the sweetest spring breeze, 

there is a gentle grace in her stillness,

an overflowing floodplain 

of hearts and flowers: a reminder

of the sweet, muted tones drenched

by raindrops.

as the cool, soft breeze and brilliant sun 

soaring in perfect unison,

the slow and deliberate steps we took,

focusing on every breath,

the soft, early light

moves us along the path.

with hands full of all the gentle, quiet things

that gives you peace,

you wrote her name in flowers 

it made the quiet light senses heart

whispers more gently, yet clearer.

—C.L.

Eighteen, with one imperious and selfish soul. 
What am I doing here?
Why am I still here?
Can we stop? Because I don't need anybody's pity, 
(Stop the one i'm throwing myself)

But I'm out of my mind,
Looking, with flinty stare, for magic 
In this fucking cruel world.

Because when you smile, your eyes shine
And my God how I want to scream 
And tell the whole goddamn world how beautiful you are
And my God, I want you to kiss me.

So tear the wall around me apart,
Tear me into piece,
Fill me with your lies,
Abandon me,
Because that is all you do. 
Because that is all everyone do.

So put your lips on mine,
Feel me slip away,
Watch me break apart,
Watch me bleed,
Watch me waste away,
Watch me floats away, 

As I wish you to surrender, 
As I wish you to break free,
As I wish you to stay,
As I wish you to want me to stay,
As I wish you to let me in,
As I wish you to keep us safe. 

But the hell with you. 
The hell with love.
I want to set love on fire.
I want to set romance on fire. 
I want to set us on fire. 

2am and I'm still wide awake
Writing about you,
Waiting in vain,
So,
Go on, 
Leave.

Leave before you're ever here. 
Go on,
Watch me crumble,
Go on,
Grab a piece of me,
You fucking bastard.
Go on, 
Kiss me and disappear,
You fucking hypocrites.
Go on,
Leave;
I'm shutting my heart down.


—C.L. 

A PROFUSION OF PARADOXES

I pace around hungry, looking for a sleek smile

silently starving and craving

for the brush of your finger against my flesh,

and my lungs breathe rapidly

in hopes of inhaling your scent

that made every fragments in me trembles

as there is a perfection in something

that can't be owned;

in someone that I cannot have.

But you see how I fail to keep my distance

you see how I tried to keep you out,

and fail irrevocably. Instead, as I was

being stripped of what is familiar, 

what is hidden well,

I took a step further, getting pulled in

into the unknown

as if everything that exists, carries me to you.

Though I am bound to scars and wound; like vines 

on melancholy walls, in the lining 

of my skin, there lives a crystal moon

and you'll remember me

in every timeless raindrops you'll see. 

Your caresses enfold me, as you taste like magic. 

Yet despite all that

if you touch me too long, you will make to me 

a long, hard crimson fissure; an irreparable harm.

Because of the brittle sense of my soul's exuberance, 

its constant lament towards that is 

soft and glimmering with silvery tenderness,

I will constantly distrust any promises, soft touches, 

and the implacable sweetness 

of your smile and words;

I'll preserve what is left of my infinitesimal being.

as I believe there are a profusion 

of things that you conceal

so I'll keep you near yet far away 
I'll hold you softly within these words, 

I'll keep you close, but never in.

—C.L.

LAMENTATION OF THE FLESH

They wish to be 

as strong as me.

What they do not know is that

behind the iron-strength,

there is an iron blade;

I carry it around, I hid it close, I hid it well. 

Like the soft rain with its rhythmic sobs,

the world could only hear the long murmuring sound clearly

so I touch my body in vain to find the wound.

You tried to touch my body,

but a thorn prick your thumb,

and an invisible air is all there is of me.

I have felt the wind on 

my second flesh; madness, I called her.

She thickens the air, heavy as water

condemning everything that goes through.

Drunken with her, I shouted at it

a night-long laments.

But when blood was revealed

behind the veil; revealing the secret
Like an unblessed moon, I can hear 

a countless number of gasp and horror.

So I say to them,

"How do you think I can do it for so long?"

—C.L.

DEPRIVATION

From the brink of existence

life spills over,

you started collecting all the pieces

that are once again shattered— withering.

You started to look at him

through poetry.

Because staring him in the eye

feels too bitter, and it wrings your heart. 

The good and the broken things are showing itself in silence.

You are every shades of blue, that aches

that only recognised violent

that forgot tenderness. 

Because sometimes, it's not about brimming in confidence.

Sometimes, you just need help to remember

as you tend to forget about all the good things—

it's nice to remember, doesn't it?

But you're just a girl,

strangling out the flowers,

that stinks with desperation and loneliness,

inhaling the bittersweet scent of love.

Too much of your time is spent looking for love 

in all the empty places, 

in all the wrong people,

at the wrong time.

(It never seems to be the right one.)

The earth started to laughs in flowers,

you started to pray so hard your bones break.

You understand, but you don't— maybe you never will.

THE IMMENSE PERPLEXITY OF A BROKEN BEINGS

a subtle kind of fear,
a subtle kind of insanity
hidden beneath a lifetime of masks.
there are cries of a wasted, forgotten beings

being muffled by the world.
what is left is just blood—
blood and broken poems,
and broken minds.

the walls are trembling and bleeding out,
as i tried to set free of all the burdens i've been carrying
by knocking the doors of heaven down
one poem at a time.

yet there is a normalcy of being wounded,
because we are perplexed by gentleness and tender beings.
silence is a shattered glass you carry within
as it became the craved intimacy.

but oh, how unfortunate
that not many hearts can see
there is a resonate grace in wreckage,
how unfortunate.

if only they are willing to go in.
if only they are willing to stay...

—C.L.

REQUIEM

How can the light goes in
if there isn't even a crack?
How can you let anything in
when the walls are completely blocked off?

All the words are being kept
in a small cramped dark space inside of you;
a bluebird that you kept hidden
a bluebird that you teach to keep quiet.

Yet the voices under all the silences
dares you not to feel, only think.
But time, like some things,
aren't ours to hold: (there is something familiar about this.)

Some things felt good, but never felt right—
it doesn't elevate the soul.
To let go, could be the right thing.
But to fight and to try again, is courageous.

Because words are powerful forces of nature
but silence, too, speaks volume.
Some things can live silently, slowly crumbling
but reborn, at the sight of

a resonance smile; on the sight of a crack.
Because that is how the light gets in.
Do it fiercely before you break slowly, and
ever so gently


—C.L.

I wander so far 

Only to come back

To a place I used to called home

It turns what is familiar into an unknown essence 

And you (and I)

left me alone between the extremes 

But then I read about a woman

Who killed herself because

The demon in her head is savagely stronger than her.

Its fire lit her brighter

Than the light within. It made her

Embrace hell by lighting herself on fire

And so I wrote about a girl, Who 

is fierce but scarred

She embrace the light within but keep her demon at bay

With pure-gold love, 

She created a home filled with 

A glimmering shadows of mosses

She simultaneously turning things mundane, magnificent.

Her peculiar endeavors, blossoms

The ethereal beauty of the world in between.

But words sometimes turns prosaic,

You will always be an enigma to me

And the sturdy voice of chaos will always be a part of me.

So in the midst of the confusion,

I wander away 

To find myself and to find home.

So in the midst of the frustration,

I wander away

To break free from my demons (and yours)

THE CATALOGUE OF UNPRETTY MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS

There's an army of unsolicited pain,

There's an army of unsolicited scars,

There's also an army of unsolicited darkness,

They come barging in,

And then there's an ambushed to the heart.

There is a place behind that dusk,

There is a place behind that tree,

There is a place behind that old house,

A place where weary love didn't exist.

There would be time when his voice soothes your aching body,

There would be time when his hands will trace your body like its a goddamn universe,

There would be time when his sweet words leads your heart and mind back home, 

There would be time when his love made you shiver.

But you're a lost stars,

But you're a falling leave,

But you're a broken bones.

The light went out,

And there is nobody,

Nobody's coming,

No one's going to love the hell out of you,

No one's going to kiss you underneath the flickering porch lights.

No one's coming,

And I don't know which one is scarier,

Knowing that you're alone,

Or knowing that you're scared of love,

Of loving,

Of being in love,

Of being loved.

– C.L.