my catharsis + rambling

It’s frustrating when you want to talk to someone out of instinct, but then you

can’t.

I mean, of course you can

but the ability to do something versus if it’s right (appropriate, fitting for the time being)

is something very different than permissibility.

Things change so fast, don’t they? When once, not too long ago, you let yourself pour out, no inhibitions because you trusted someone because you knew that they would be there to care, no matter what (or so they said)

and then one day, that’s taken away from you-

what do you, what are you supposed to do

with all the words hanging in your mouth, ready to burst?

Should you just let them expire? Don’t those thoughts and emotions deserve some moment of life?

 

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to move a city//montreal

I was reading an article for my Cultural Anthropology class (exam tomorrow!) about climate change and it was saying that it was difficult to move a city because of rising sea levels. The phrase “to move a city” stuck in my mind, begging to be written about, and so, here’s the fruit of my mini productive study break~

I wrote this poem thinking of Montreal…

  /////

We always moved to different cities

/but why not move the city with us?

 

with its accents etched onto my breath,

its roads embedded onto my fingers,

its people engraved onto my mind,

the rich tapestry of cultures

breathing in the same air,

United by the spinning kaleidoscope that is this city

 

But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Cities can only give so much

but when we leave, they stay,

Continually watering the dreams of its residents

 

and those who leave have only memories

stamped onto our minds,

dreams we don’t want to

wake up from

 

Until we return, finally,

and we are watered again by the city/its people/

its roads/its languages/its culture/

its music/

its soul

to melt oneself into colors

Let me melt myself into colors

Like a candle melting into a puddle of wax, spilling everywhere, hot to the touch, leaving a mess

 

Perhaps, then, will you understand me?/ If I’m in the colors familiar to your childhood, the colors of the crayons you bought in the pack of sixty-four that you wanted to show off to your friends with the sharpener in the back?

 

You used to be an artist before too, smearing those crayons in your grubby little hands,

Proudly showing them off to your mother/who would tack it onto the fridge

A trophy

 

But now, when I try to explain,

You don’t get it

 

You want lines, you want sharp angles, you want black and white

And maybe, some gray/but not too much

 

But why not?

Wasn’t your favorite color red at one time?-

 

///

Wow, it’s been a while since I wrote poetry. It feels so good~ This was an ekphrasic, a reaction to someone else’s art. My friend shared some poetry with me and the line ‘melt into colours’ stuck out, begging to have its own piece. And so, this happened.

Hope you guys enjoyed it~

~ajc

EXHAUSTION: a poem inspired from a rose

I participated in an excellent master’s class for writing on November 7th in which we looked at a rose and were given ways to take the rose in different angles. This is one of the fruit of the class. The prompt was that we drew an emotion from a hat and had to use a rose to describe it somehow. My word was exhaustion.

you run

you run

you keep in a straight line,

pushing onward,

no hesitation

though maybe, sometimes

side distractions

but then you’re pierced,

reminded to go back to your straight line

stemming from your dreams

your dreams which watered this journey,

made them green

gave them life

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