Love | Lies | Lattes

"I desire the things that will destroy me in the end." — Sylvia Plath

Month: January, 2016

A Muse of Great Catastrophe

I’m getting tired of writing ones about you.
Maybe this will be the last.
I’m just so sentimental,
I don’t want to let you go.
As a physical person in my life, I know it has to happen. I accept that.
But as my inspiration, I’m not quite ready…
I don’t think I ever told you, did I?
You were the reason
I started writing again.
Something about you,
something about us.
Our storybook romance,
our lack of want for a relationship,
our undeniable chemistry.
It was you.
And it was me.
And it was what we were together.
Years I went without pen to paper, and suddenly,
one night at 4 in the morning,
I just couldn’t stop.
You were the summer,
I was the night.
We were a dream.
Fading fast, like those Florida sunsets,
but oh, how we colored the sky,
and the world around us couldn’t help but watch.
Everyone could see something
strangely beautiful
as they watched us burn.


That Is The Question

Sometimes I forget
that everything has changed.
That we’re not doing what we’ve always done–
that this isn’t just a very wide valley
before another amazingly high peak of ours.
Feast or famine.
We’ve had some long famines, and it’s about that time
that we would normally begin to prepare for our feast.
But there are no more feasts.
This is a forever-famine.
like I thought we could be.
It’s like when Fortinbras arrives to the castle,
and the royal kingdom of Denmark is slain.
Was I Hamlet in all of this?
Ever-emotional, lost, and overthinking?
At least in the end he was carried out like a soldier,
with at least an ounce of respect.
I was tossed to the wind
like the end of a cigarette–
all used up and now useless.
The past 6 months sitting in an ashtray
since you decided to burn it all up
that cold, bitter night.
Or was it just me who was cold and bitter?
To forgive or not to forgive?
That is the question.
And if I chose to forgive, could I as easily forget?
I wish I could.
I wish these memories could remain untouchable,
But everything I thought of you is
by the one night, the first touch,
the last goodbye.
When I see you again, will it be the same?
Will I be able to remember the hurt in my bones
when you look at me with those eyes
in the way you do,
and say the stupid sweet things
you shouldn’t say but always do
when I least expect it?
Will I forgive and forget, make my way
to the highest peak,
and attend the feast?
That is the question.

New Book, Old Story

For the past 3-4 years, I’ve considered myself an “ex-writer.” In high school and the beginning of college, I used to write poems, song lyrics, short stories — the works. Everyone who knew me knew that it was an integral part of my life. But one day, I just stopped. It didn’t feel like I could do it anymore, and I didn’t fight the feeling to end that relationship I had with writing.

It was about 6 months ago that I was inspired to write again. There were a few factors involved, but one main one. And I mostly wrote 90% of my writings about that one main factor. I decided to create a collection of all the scribbles I’d scrawled about this one factor, and that’s the project I’ve been working on for the past week or so.

So far, it’s about 20 half-pages filled with a rollercoaster of feels and “intimate details” as one fellow writer described it when I lent her my prototype. I’m also playing with the idea of sharing it with the world. But I’m not sure how or through what. For now, the booklet, rightfully titled The Candid Travesty of a Non-Relationship just sits indifferently on my laptop, caged in solitude.


I’m not sure what it is, or how to be it – all I know is that it’s something I haven’t been for a long time.

Sometimes it’s forgotten about and I’ll ride out a wave thinking that I’ve found it, that I’ve become it, and I’ll just bask in that warmth, either lying to myself or living in sweet ignorance.

Everything is okay.

But other times, the gentle waves become a tsunami that I wasn’t ready for, and I struggle to stay afloat, to keep swimming until I can find land – something to hold onto. It always seems that when these tsunamis occur, storms pour down from above, and sea monsters try to tug me down to their depths below. Either way, I’m drowning.


It’s been a few years since my last blog post, but the idea of beginning a new one has been growing on my mind for a little while now. Unfortunately, the thought only comes in that weak state of mind before I give in to sleep. But it’s now or never.

I decided this blog is going to be primarily for me, and anyone else who wants to read it, but it’s not going to be something I force myself to do, to entertain others, because when you add routines and schedules to something recreational, then it’s not fun anymore. And I need this platform as a release, more so than I care about others reading it. So, here goes.