“On Wearing Thin”

Day 33

Wearing thin like yards of fabric:
Silk, satin, they should have felt soft.
A gentle touch instead of scratchy threads
worn out in places that shouldn’t have been.
Holes chewing through fabric,
burning through cloth
all patchy and worn and so beyond whole
that it is just itself
without the w.
The emptiness becomes more
than the togetherness
and it can no longer be called full
or even half full
when it is gaping,
starving to be filled.

Wearing thin like a light sweater against pouring rain,
rough weather that likes to tear apart things into shreds,
throwing umbrellas about and listen:
bones crack and metal twists
in all the ways that is unholy
like a marionette past its time
or a single person
trying to finish the show
even as they are bleeding
all the while.

Wearing thin like the skeleton
that bursts through skin,
protruding in ways that make people wonder if
it is grotesque,
or just another form of modern art.
Cheeks hollowed out,
becoming pumpkins on not just Halloween
and the candle lights barely flickering
in the eyes so tired and worn.
Shadows become more like tattoos
than something that should have been temporary
and able to soften in the light.

Wearing thin like a human,
life stretching them like elastics,
only to snap with a single whisper.
That fragility of wearing thin
and still going
even as we’re about to vanish
into thin air.

The second verse, with the modern art line is one of my favourite lines. I usually never have any stand outs where I think, “wow, I’m really proud of that one,” but it was just so surprisingly striking, even though I was just spitballing. Also, it seems as if my poetry is getting the most hits, so I may do more poetry than I already am in the future. Thanks for reading !
Time Taken: 22 min.
Word Count: 240


“The Glow of a Moment”

Day 32

Sunlight rains down from an open window, painting the shelves in warm mustard. Ghosts of dust become corporeal, but never could one reach out and hold them in the palm of your hand. The books that line the walls glow softly, bright colours popping out, calling for one to reach out and grab a story to jump into. Worlds of infinite possibilities that portaled from one dimension to another: a wonderful way to get lost without ever feeling lonely.

However, the stories that line the shelves, and the ones in boxes at the front of the store weren’t the only tales to tell. Those who wandered in left moments, words, and feelings behind without even realizing. Their experiences brought life to the place.

Here comes one now:

A bell rings, high-pitched and nearly faint to the ear.

Two girls walk in. Curiosity darts in the eyes of one. The other pays no mind to the store, more amused by the one beside them to care about anything else. A fondness lingers even as the first girl breaks free from her paced steps and spins around gleefully.

“Isn’t this place beautiful?” she asks, stretching her arms as if to hug the store in its entirety. For a second, it seems as if she is an angel ready to take flight. A silver bracelet glints in the warm light.

“Hm, yeah I guess you’re right,” the second responds skeptically, twisting a butterfly ring on her finger out of habit than nervousness. “What are we doing here?”

“Looking around.” Silver Bracelet girl smiles disarmingly, bright and cheerful compared to the other’s disposition for careful and hesitant action.

“It seems empty.”

She brushes it off and reaches out to hold silver bracelet girl’s hand, pulling her around the store. “Don’t worry about it. There’s always someone at the cash register when you need them.”

Butterfly Ring resists a little, but allows herself to be led away.

“And you don’t find that suspicious?”

“Not particularly no.”

Butterfly Ring can’t help but snort a little. Silver Bracelet didn’t pay any mind to her, instead choosing to pick up a lavender notebook with her free hand. A clump of hair ends up covering her eyes, but Butterfly Ring tucks it behind Silver Bracelet’s ear.

“Another notebook?” Butterfly Ring says. “You don’t need another notebook.”

“How would you know?” Silver Bracelet asks defiantly, tiling her chin up to meet Butterfly Ring’s eyes.

In return, she lightly flicks Silver Bracelet’s forehead. “The seven empty ones you have at home.”

“I would fight you, but you’re right.” A joking scowl settles on pink lips as she set the notebook down.

“I always am.” Butterfly Ring laughs lightly. “Time to go home?”

“Treat me to ice cream and we’ve got a deal.” Silver Bracelet winks.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

A bell rings again and the place is empty once more. No purchase was made, but the smile they share as they walk through the door hand-in-hand is payment enough. As for what the future holds for them, it is unclear. They may never remember the store, perhaps never visit again. Maybe they will, although it doesn’t particularly matter.

The story begins when one steps into The Store.

I really wanted it to feel atmospheric, but I don’t think I accomplished what I set out to, which makes me a bit disappointed. In a sense, I wanted to make a simple moment mean something, but perhaps I tried too hard. Anyways, thanks for reading !
Time Taken: 50 min
Word Count: 537


Day 31

This was a thread I didn’t expect to fray
from the tapestry of my identity,
with its bright dye fading in saturation.

For someone who grew up around others just like me,
the minority that somehow became the majority,
I couldn’t understand how it was possible.

Holding that tapestry up to the sun
and seeing the life that the thread weaved into me,
it wasn’t that I was losing a part of myself,
it was that I had stopped holding onto it,
allowed it to fall into disrepair.

This time,

I will be the one who takes hold of that thread
and never letting go.

It’s been a whole month since I’ve started this account! Thank you so much for the support and I hope to learn a lot more in the months to come!

Today’s is a short one! because I really had to go back and edit the parts over and over. This is a part that I cut off from a poem entry I’ve been working on because I had decided to go a different direction, but I still really liked it a lot and wanted to use it somewhere.
Word Count: 110
Time Taken: 15 minutes

“I’m not doing enough,” from a Teenager

Day 30

It always feels like I’m not doing enough.

The mentality of: “I haven’t done anything important in my life,’ or, ‘why is it that everything I do pales in comparison to other people,’ has always lingered, a plague at the back of the mind.

For me, my parents liked to compare me to my cousins, their coworkers’ kids, people on the news… almost anyone really. I didn’t understand it back then, for what reason did they try to make me feel so insignificant about the things I’ve accomplished, but I’m at the age where I know it was to push me harder to do more. I think that somehow, I knew it all along, but I never wanted to acknowledge it.

It made me bitter, those comparisons. I never faulted those with abilities that stretched beyond mine because I knew that’s what they earned and deserved. That bitterness twisted itself, buried deep within my chest. The emotions that came with it burned into how I viewed the world.

Insignificant. A failure. Someone who could never accomplish those things in a life time.

It stings, the way my brain calls it out so bluntly.

To erase that way of thinking that even now, continues to follow me around, involved so much work. It’s toxic and poisonous, and I recognize it for the self-sabotage that it is in disguise. I perpetuate it. It’s me that continues to hurt myself in this way.

That is not to say that comparisons are pure evil. They have driven me to push myself harder, set an examples, and given me ideas on what I should try next. It is the thought that I could never achieve anything like them, or do anything as grand as them, or even come close to the brilliance that they shone, that really poisons me. Self-awareness doesn’t help if I’m not doing anything to change it.

It’s hard to forgive myself, to say that even if I didn’t accomplish those things, there were always ways for me to achieve what I want. One person’s accomplishments does not define who they are. What I can do is not defined by what I haven’t done, but by the actions that I am taking now to reach the goals I have in mind.

Step by step, I am going to learn to be kinder to myself, to think ‘this is how I can get better,’ instead of ‘this is what I can’t do right.’ Even now, I still slip up from time to time. To ingrain such a poisonous way of living was on me.

But it can be fixed.

Instead of “I’m not doing enough,” lets think “I can do more.”

Time Taken: 23 minutes
Word Count: 448

Day 29


Sometimes I think dreams are like clouds,
floating out of reach,
never tangible enough to be able to grasp in a single hand
to stop the wind from blowing it past.

On terrible days
they pour rain and snow and hail,
tears, wishes, and regrets
And still we walk on.

It blocks the sun,
protects us from the brightness of reality,
and the world that lay just beyond the playgrounds-
the lands that we called our own.

We’ll go cloud watching on soft green grass,
stain blue jeans and go home crying
but it didn’t matter
when we were forming shapes out of clouds
and watching dreams go by.


My desk was my country
and the classroom was the world,
which meant my classmates were everything to me.
I was something to them.

Those were the times when I held more value,
was more than a face in a seat.

If the classroom is the world,
then the school is a universe
and I am only an astronaut drifting in space,
or maybe even a time traveler,
who leaps from age to age,
universe to universe
until I’m no longer quite sure which universe I belonged in.
I’m sure I left a part of me in each place.
Home must be somewhere in between those places.

The places keep changing,
but the stars are always as plentiful
and shining as they always have been.


I am too young to know more,
and too old to know nothing.

Green lights tell you to go,
red lights tell you to stop,
but no one tells you you’re doing the right thing
or the wrong thing

Growing up is for kids,
lost childhoods are for adults,
learning how to be a person
is all of our lives.
The in-between is the ugly part.

There should be a manual,
a how-to with step by step instructions,
maybe pictures too,

On how to be mature enough to be taken seriously,
(serious eyes, scrawled writing, ticking watch)

On how to be young enough to still have fun,
(glinting eyes, too loud laughter, flashing smiles)

On how to deal with failure and heartache
(three am breakdowns, headaches that don’t go away, a weight on your chest)

On how to love someone in the right way,
(a soft touch, a comfortable shoulder, a warmth that comes with acceptance)

On how to be a good person.

But there isn’t.

So I’ll stay right here,
and learn how to do it myself.

I learned a lot about someone I didn’t expect today. Truthfully, I didn’t know them as well as I wish I did, and maybe I still don’t, but I’m glad that I did. Sometimes I wish I could turn people like a three-dimensional object and see them on all sides. We aren’t just things to be played with, and it doesn’t do them justice to describe them like that. So this is for them.
Thanks for reading !
Time Taken: 36 minutes
Word Count: 416

magical gardeners | spoken word

Hi ! I finally finished my spoken word video for the poem ‘magical gardeners’ ! It took me a long time to figure out how to subtitle it (especially since I had to do it by hand,) and while I think it still needs some work, I’m really happy with where I’ve started. Please give it a listen !


i knew people, who,
with a single touch,
could make flowers blossom.

i could never understand them,
the ones:
who could talk so gently
as to not scare the butterflies,
who floated lightly
as to not crush the ants,
whose voice was seldom heard
but whose actions were always felt.
they were mysteries to me.

smiling face, hardened fist.
i needed to prove myself worthy
in order to stand equal,
to be treated more than autumn leaves
that were so brittle they broke underfoot.
they tell me,
“be gentle, be soft,”
and i threw that away in disgust,
in fear that if i did that,
ut would become how they would see me.

people who can make flowers blossom
are the same ones who
unfurl others so very carefully
and understand their centre.
i, with my open scars,
angry eyes,
hands ready to destroy that fragility
even if it meant destroying my garden,
could not understand how they did it.

even now i still do not know,
how one could allow themselves
to colour the world beautifully
and fall prey to the seasons,
instead of battling freezing winters to come out
worn and torn–
yet alive on the other side.

maybe i will never understand
why people chose the pain
of making flowers bloom at single touch,
but these magical gardeners,
they have suffered more than me,
and still choose to be kind and gentle and vulnerable.

i, protected by my thorny grove,
would like to be able to do that one day too.

Day 28

Back to back,
not heart to heart,
or face to face,
it is two different directions we are headed in my dear.

Even now,
we cannot bring ourselves to say one last farewell,
but I know that somewhere inside,
the past links us together,
and that is not something we must forget.

I do not turn around
and neither do you;
there is no need to look at your face to hear your silent words.
It will be a lie to say I wouldn’t miss you,
or your smile,
or your eyes,
and the way you make, made, me feel.

Alive, oh, I felt alive next to you.

Together we were invincible,
and now we are apart,
so very vulnerable to the world.

We will meet again love,
it is the unspoken vow I have made.
Somewhere out there,
I’m sure you agree too.
For now we must part,
a bittersweet end to our era,
and yet,
another will begin without you.

You have left an unfillable void.
I hope I have done the same.

This is where we say goodbye;
may fate be kind,
to where we shall find each other again

in the distant future.

Inspired by an opening actually, to a show I used to watch and is very dear to my heart. Thanks for reading ! (Video will be uploaded tomorrow)