Toast to Embarrassments

If I am, 

I will celebrate my imperfections, 

Raise toast, to 

My embarrassments, 

For tonight, 

My body has many stories to tell


Going Beyond the Forms

It’s seldom that humans become metaphors of their own language. It’s not quite often that we see things being defined in the person itself. However, when it happens, when we do witness a thing being definitive in itself, we see the thing itself and not its representation. We don’t have to concern ourselves with imitations anymore for we, upon such witnessing, reconstruct the constant. We realign the history, mend our explanations, and create this new allegory of essence upon which essence in others thereupon be searched for. And, when we’re done with that momentary reconstruction of truth, the only constant, all that is left is the representation that engenders faith in generations to come.

On Apathy, and Others.

I see faces that are happy,

Lips that lock, tongues that roll

Into and deep, I see

Love where I don’t want it

To be seen at. I

Think, I am,

Over and above this idea of forgetting, of

Melting oneself in another, in this

Soul searching in else’s heart,

Warmth of warm felt against the cheeks, and eyes shut to

Live one’s dreams in reality, or reality

Lived in dreams, of

This whispering in the ears and then

Giggling, to explore the

Never ending mysteries of the bodies

Of each other, to idle away in pictures, clicked, again and again, then

Making it all feel like the night never befalls,

But stars does, and the moon

Never wanes, I

Don’t see myself falling for that

I don’t need love,

I can’t stand love,

It reminds of my voids.