Tunnelling

You bend me.

I am light filled and radiant

swimmingly soft

pooling at your feet.

Stare slowly

talk faster

time moves for us

the minute blocks shift

We plod through concrete tunnels

crawling and squirming

wriggling towards

unknown

pitch black and tar filled.

Is this what it is?
The thing they all talk about?
It feels like digging through cement.

Dreamy Indulgences

Dreamer in the city
with my little dog
the incessant voice
screaming Run
It's quieter here.
nearly a whisper
next to the sounds of the bus
the bmw
and the couple saying goodbye.
If I could
just live here
in a small apartment
above the corner liquor
store,
with my rockstar dog
and faux fur rug,
post it notes
above the mirror
blaring self-affirmations
and to-do list items.
If I could
abandon
my suburban mom
destiny
minivan and soccer balls
It's the predictable life
That I'm bound for.
But if I were to shut the blinds
on the window into
my next life.
This is where I would come.
Here.
the people live in color here.
they don't let life get in the way
of their living.
There's big boots and tight pants,
she's bound for her
daily soy latte frappacino.
And waiting for the light is
Man in Toms wearing hipster glasses
running to his Save America meeting.
There's the pixie who hands over my soft serve
smoothing her purple hair and smiling
that impish grin.
People watching never gets boring here.
And all the millions of lights
and sounds
they soak into my skin
Let me breath in all of this before I starve the dream
quickly gaining sustenance collected on the streets.

It was the sunset that saved me.

The way the colors
bled and ached
across the sky
matched my
ever-whirling body.
And on the left
the steep
snow-capped mountains
golden with light
and piercing
the ever blue
clear sky.
It was the sunset
that saved me.
Not your arms
or your insistent mouth.
Not your big laugh,
nor that earnest look
you have when
I babble on
for far too long.
This time--
it wasn't you.
It was this moment
I have carved
for myself
the smell of bacon
this grandma bench
and just the clear air
going
in. out.
breathe.
in. out.
just this for now.
solid below
and liquid above.
one day
there will be peace&sweet
stillness
for hours upon hours
For now all I have is the
precious few moments.
And yes,
the sunset that saved me.

All For Your Good

And when I have
arrived,
on this small plateau
the colors strike me
all at once
pierce my very
center
cause me to crumble
some might call
this pause
as hallowed as it is
for me,
infantile or distracted.
I choose
childlike awe
and
dumbstruck wonder.
It seems to all align,
for once.
the reflection of light
and the daily noisings
into one simple
beautiful Aria
sent from the heavens
the whole span of greatness
all works in harmony
in this single moment.
To top it off:
It's springtime.
And--
I have no urge to run.

Forcing Words

leaping out
of mouth
before they even form,
these words I extract
from some crevice of my brain
that creaks from misuse.
creativity manufactured
is particularly uninspired.
put away the pen,
shred the evidence
You cannot force my words.

Stay Away

One thing, simple request.
Easy enough, if you actually put your mind to it.
We boxed it up, and left it.
I actually ran, pushing off just to get further.
There it remained, forbidden and dark.
Until today, I thought it was completely out of my path.
And then I tripped, and looking down, there it was:
the very thing I ran from.
I have a sneaky suspicion you brought it there.
Is that an accusation?
Perhaps.
All I asked for was no interference.

Interference

wake up late
rise slowly
and step to
solid ground
grey carpets, piles of clothes.
no more--luxury linens or peeled grapes.
you, with your soft gaze
and earnest touch,
only permitted
in Neverland.
Presently, a slim chance,
all a very unlikely probability,
defying every risk assessment--
exists, just barely.
Possibility.
The ultimate hopeful word,
and the seizing of it leads
to a much worse outcome:
Disappointment.
You tell me which it will be.
Truth is: you never left my
unconscious thought.
Sneaking into dreams
and drifting mind days.
I want to say--
so much.
But I swallow the words,
pushing you back to illusion
and clinging to the inevitability
of disappointment.
All I ask is that you let it sink in.
No more interference.

Onward and Upward

dove flutters in my chest,

shed the deep slumber

and wake to joy

every moment

a renewed chance

for gratitude,

the priorities of my heart

shining through

as steps onward,

upward

are taken, at last.

At last:

peace.

There are no rest stops

on the road of life,

but this I carry with me:

Peace be unto you.

And also with you.

This morning, I woke up happy. It's almost silly that I would be grateful for such a simple thing. For most of my life, I have been pretty happy when I wake up. When I was little, I loved to set my alarm and wake up right at 7:15 so I would have time to get completely ready before school. I have lost some of that excitement to wake up in the mornings, and perhaps that has something to do with the fact that I no longer have anyone to enforce my bedtime. Sunday is quickly becoming my favorite day of the week partly due to the fact that it is the only day I don't have to wake up before 9. Sometimes in life, it is a difficult choice to be happy, and other times it is an easy one. Today, it is easy.

Cause Today I Don't Feel Like Doin Anything

Ummm, so maybe I feel like that everyday...It's a rainy grey day, the water pitter pats on the roof outside my window, and Jack Johnson singing about mango trees and banana pancakes plays in the background. I have had a very successful laid back day, with about 2 hours of shopping at Savers. Best store ever.
4 shirts, 1 sweater, 1 pair of jeans, a watch, and a gift for someone. All for just over 20 bucks.
Seriously? Seriously.
That's the way to shop on a college student budget on Memorial Day. Yay for being Mormon and Filipino, or in other words doubly cheap.
Plus I woke up to about 20 doormats outside our door, love notes, TP, and an invitation to brunch. The prank war begins!
And now for planning out the rest of my chillax day....I think I will build a fort with my best friend Leisie, make some mexican hot cocoa, and watch a movie in our new fort.
Maybe I will do some laundry so I feel somewhat productive.
But sometimes it is perfectly productive to take a break and be unproductive. Does that even make sense?


Playing Pretend


Step into the snow globe
perfect world of warmth and happiness,
float to the top and--
Drink the pink water.
Snuggle up and listen,
rain hitting the window outside.
Forget--
leave behind regret.
Set aside this day
to remember the home inside the soul.
Warmth, content,
no more contention
Let's shed convention!
wear our big shirts
and sing softly as we play.
To grow up is impossible
every day, we just get older,
but our hearts: they stay the same.
Hold my hand,
let's play pretend.

Candy Knowledge

Carrying the books
bundled like a small child
I sing softly
the years spread
before me now
like a patient etherized
upon a table
I heard that once
And knew not what it meant
Revelations often appear
at the oddest of times.
These books speak for me now.
Reading, I relive
all that could have been.
Set free the imagination
of that same Free Spirit
I once encountered
long ago.
Silently I scream:
Carpe Diem!

Romper

Broken pieces
lying under my bed
shattered and stolen
piece upon piece.
No longer haunting
my everyday existence,
yet still ever present
waiting in that locked box
for the day of total amnesia.
Neverending reminders--
scars battle hard
and aching.
Now sing
with the Triumph of
a fight hard won.
No more.

Do I?

My tears fall,
soul full
crying
From each beauty--
heartbreaking.
Each day, a gift of freedom
grace returns to unstretched legs.
A new chance to prove
the impossibilities wrong.
Dream again
hope fuller in my heart.
The butterfly that once rested
on my shoulder returns.
Rip the pages from my diary
hidden sadness extinguished.
Only the fire of true love burns now.
Pure and sweet
reach for the fruit,
finally conquering the simple.
Dare to eat a peach.

Living on Sunshine

Floating

time does not stop

Even as I try to

The ache in

my bones for

something new

continues to grow.

Burst the bubble

surrounding my clouded

heart

step through

to golden light

dream world

aquamarine seas

crepes for breakfast

sunshine for lunch

shed obligations

night falls

dive naked

emerge

in morning light

reality snaps

hitting my head

with the force

of a locomotive

bruised and dazed

my aching bones

creak

viscous blood pumps rythmically

I trudge on.

Coffee Break Friends

you know

exactly who you are,

catching up

faraway lives,

simple courtesy check

cordial,

occasionally animated,

rarely

in the conversation

for the other,

rather:

ready and steaming

to spill.

the tedious story

that is life.

Caution!

Contents may be hot.

The Weight of an Instant

grew up

sheltered life

a bubble girl

in a big world

finally walked out

onto a tightrope.

And that worked—

tightroping the line—

for awhile…

So I figured walking worked

and never,

never had to run

At least not until:

One day,

tightroping

I felt the sharp grip

of razor teeth

grasping my ankle,

I made the mistake

of looking down,

down into the eyes

of a ravaged beast.

Locking eyes

for

just a moment

there was a time

where I forgot to run.

But when

the pull of that

death grip

began to make me

fall.

I woke up.

The pull of gravity hit me.

No longer a deer in the headlights.

Woke up.

And ran.

ran away

back towards the bubble,

But when I reached home

the bubble had already popped.

So now I stand here

at the edge of the cliff,

the remains of my safe home at my feet.

Where do I go now?

I know not.

But I do know this

Next Time:

there will be no hesitation.

I will Run.

What does it mean to care?

The gardener who whispers kind words

as he carefully waters each individual.

The mother who kneels down

taking her crying child in her arms.

The tired worker who

gives up her seat on the bus.

The lover who admires his beloved

before he wakes her with gentle kisses.

Each person taking the time

to tend. gather. open.

Is there a difference between all these actions and love?

No.

Those who say they care, talk.

Those who love, don’t.

Granite and Glass

You are granite.

I am an empty wine glass.

You know what happens when we touch.

You laugh like the sun coming up laughs

at a star that disappears into it.

Love opens my chest,

and thought returns to its confines.

Patience and rational considerations leave.

Only passion stays, whimpering and feverish.

Some men fall down in the road like dregs thrown out.

Then totally reckless the next morning

they gallop out with new purposes.

Love is the reality,

and poetry is the drum that calls us to that.

Do not keep complaining about loneliness.

Let the fear-language of that theme

crack open and float away.

Let the priest come down from his tower, and not go back up.

-Rumi

from The Big Red Book

My dear and wonderful grandmother, Nanni, got me the most wonderful present for Christmas, that is perhaps my most cherished gift of all. The Big Red Book by Coleman Barks with poetry by Rumi, an Islamic poet from the 1200s is my new Bible. It is filled with some of the most beautiful words ever written, and such wisdom and purity is contained in the pages that it nearly brought me to tears as I sat reading it on the plane for the first time.

I just finished the first section of the book, and this particular poem stood out to me, especially the second to last stanza. “Do not keep complaining about loneliness/Let the fear-language of that theme/crack open and float away.” This is the reason I write poetry. To me, it is what cracks open my fear, my loneliness, it is truly the drum that calls us to the purity of love. When I pour my words from deep inside the place we call a heart, I cannot complain or fear, I can only open myself to the emotion that runs through me. And this is what Rumi demands of his audience through his poetry: to open. If I can aspire to a grain of the greatness that is carried through his poetry, I will be satisfied.

A Sunset Worth Stopping For

the sky alight

on fire

permeates my soul

to the core

brushes my face

with a touch of light

its beauty

intense uncaptured

even as I fulfill

the itch to try

to capture a piece

I fail miserably

and begin to cry

with the enormity

of the crushing colors of the sky

There is only One

Painter

who has a palette this rich.

Grasping for Definition

There is beauty in differences

no standard definition

fill in the bubble answer

for beautiful

so why oh why?

are we all trying so hard to measure up

to

something we can't even begin

to

define.

This is just something I thought of the other day, looking around at a lot of the girls and women in the world today, it is so sad how inadequate a lot of them feel. If we could all remember that we are all daughters of Heavenly Father, and will always be beautiful in His eyes, the world really would be a better place. And yes, there is importance in thinking "I am a daughter of God," but there is also a great importance in thinking, "Each and every person on this whole earth is a Child of God." If we could all remember that, there would be so much more love and light on this earth, and so much more happiness.

Just a little food for thought,

Miss M

Prior to Dreaming

image via here

Before the slumber
as my mind slips towards
unconscious,
bottled thoughts surface.

And when I retreat
to that place of peace,
all I can see is the beauty
of fulfilling my ideas.

But when I emerge
inhibitions return,
and I no longer allow myself
to dream.