Eyes See What I See
Lips Who Am I?
Ear Find My Work
What’s Your Mood? What’s Your Mood?
CONNECT Talk to Me
Ode to Protagonist
broken pencil remains
that you, younger me,
had lost
your love for scribbles.
petty romances abandoned,
since simply melting over a landscape
of a higher power—
instead of
brilliant brushstrokes
of a steady hand
growing in search of
survival to wash down the
imagination with a
big gulp of reds, yellows,
colors of the sweet
personality building
itself up with words—
was not enough.
one sudden day I know your smell,
new, but I like how it draws your skin,
you promise we’d work together well
in the warm heap of leaves caving in.
a gentle plea from fiber tresses
meets both our flatness with surprise,
and as my fist forcefully presses
you quietly spring me into life.
the secret living of your ribbed breaths
a ditty emerging from the shadows,
you litter a little trail of hints
and wherever you go, your reader follows.
showing me a window outside my spread
for the moments you are inside my head.
you saddle up with assorted beginnings
that break into me
like the crispness of the first compliment of the day,
warm and strange but alerting the mind of the good
that is yet to come.
I will write this as an afterthought.