#poetry, thoughts

What Kind of Gift is a Toy Doll?

you gave me a toy doll once.
it looked exactly like me.

I felt like I was looking into a mirror

& I still do.


as if the stars warned us of light
is no escape from darkness.

shadows only swarm deeper,
the closer we reach the sun

& yet we desire to touch the blue
of an open sky anyways.


our actions are like engraves
on stone
& not imprints in sand.
in other words, once it is past
it exists forever.


what the mind forgets leaves a scar
so the body remembers.


a weapon is only strong as the one
who uses it.
that’s why I see no power in the sword.
what is strength if I need someone else
to discover it?


asked a question & received no reply,
only silence–
could this by my own skin saying,
the answer cannot be found in what’s spoken…
or is it that I didn’t like what I heard
from my own voice?


when I couldn’t stand looking at the doll anymore,
I cut its body up.

into star-shaped pieces–
where you can find them scattered across the room.

I did this because the universe was too scary.

if I could just make something that big
into something small–
I’d be happier in it.


a galaxy is never diminished by darkness
of the universe–
instead, it will die by its own light.

a supernova is what we call the self-destruction
of a star.
how it bleeds its colors into a black hole
until its part of the darkness it yearns to escape
& then is forgotten.


to save anything,
sometimes we must destroy it.

it’s why I see myself the enemy
& you the hero.

what is fought for is much bigger
than what we have… what we think so little of.

I have a theory about war:
it can be a good thing.

that to lay down the sword,
I must wield it first–

or place the sword in your hands
& let you do as you please.


I cannot find what I never searched for.
likewise, I cannot lose what was never mine.


can we push pass our limits?
it’s not enough to know stars exist
beyond the sky if we cannot touch it,
feel its light & be consumed without burning.

melt away the skin & expose the human
underneath it.

I ask — can fire be beautiful for once?


what hates itself cannot love
& be loved.


a black hole can never be a star.
so who said the star would be an abyss?
when it devours, can a star still be used
to give someone
a door to escape somewhere else?
the answer revealed itself in a sudden flash–
if you self-destruct,
everything you are will be no more.


is this what life feels like when forgiven?
to be free of regret?

I cry.

let myself break like a worn blade.
how the body heals itself
— a pulse of a heart
(I long forgot heal rhythm)
sings a different hymn–
it says, the past has unscarred itself
from memory
& everything will be okay. 


maybe you gave me this toy doll for a reason?
to learn something from it?
so I can look at it & see myself
the way you see me?


let’s call time a liar for what it isn’t.
give Death a new name.

the body never dies.
instead, it’s reborn into a memory.

seek immortality in each other.
let us be never forgotten.

a tether can never be a sword.
so who said a sword was a weapon?
crafted to kill, can a sword still be used
to save someone
when the war is self-inflicted?
the answer scarred into my skin, a fatal wound–
once you want to die,
you can no longer protect anyone.


here’s my theory about light:
it keeps secrets.
this is why I like the dark–
if empty, I cannot be disappointed
nothing is there.
wouldn’t it be foolish to seek a painting
on a bare canvas? or a scripture on
blank paper? we never need the light–
darkness allows us the space
to imagine something to be there.


it’s all about perspective–

a warrior needs the sword
to win the war.
& the night sky needs the star
to reveal its beauty.


nothing about you has changed!

a face with a different mask
still hides the smile that made me feel
you cared for me.


no more will this heart seek vengeance
for the pain I cause onto it.
no apology can mend these injuries?

so what is better than a toy doll?
I envy its pristine rags for skin
& the dark threads for hair.
I look into its button eyes & see nothing.
no universe is home there.

stitches for a mouth cannot voice its existence.
it will never grow old to hate its human.


you taught me that everything I have
will be lost
& what is gone is never forgotten.

so why fear losing myself in places
I discover ruined?
what is mine is mine forever.

remember, a star is always out of reach,
the sword is tougher than the hand that holds it,
& you cannot discover what never belonged to you.


The Superpower of the Introvert is their Kryptonite

Do you know what I hate about you? Your need to be heard.

You want to be the center of attention. The way you feed into it like it’s this adorable pet you own is sickening. Not understanding that the attention you seek is an enormous dragon wanting to devour everything in its path. Sadly, you’re blindly giving yourself up as a five-course meal in hopes someone will acknowledge your existence.

There’s this thing where everything has to be debated and argued. Every choice a person makes put under a microscope to be dissected. It’s like everyone is a thing to someone else.

What I learned about things is that people feel entitled to own them. No wonder, I feel my thoughts aren’t my own. Or that the thoughts that are mine aren’t allowed to be spoken. This is the problem with your need to be heard. I cast myself to the side and put you in the center.

You must understand that I’ve never been a “people person.”

Not once have I sought enjoyment from big crowds. Parties are truly the bane of my existence. People take up entirely too much space that I feel claustrophobic. And there’s never a door where I can escape fast enough through as people follow. They’re always asking questions I never have answers to.

‘Why are you so quiet?’ follows me everywhere. What’s worse, I feel I need to answer. Should I say it’s ‘people phobia?’ or that I’m allergic to human beings? Do I look back to my childhood and try to find some trauma that made me believe keeping my mouth shut is my best option in any situation?

I don’t know how to answer that question. And since I don’t know, I stay quiet. When the truth is, that instead of an answer, I have a question of my own. Why do people need to hear themselves talk?

Then again, maybe I should ask myself why I try to make sense of what they’re saying. My biggest problem is that I listen too much. Following a conversation is difficult when nothing important is being discussed. So I try to find solutions to problems that no one is searching for.  

Here’s my question to you: Why can’t I just be an introvert?

I hate having to explain myself when you don’t understand that I like silence. That I feel understood speaking to a brick wall than to anyone who comprehends my language. Besides, a brick wall never asks for understanding that you feel entitled to. My superpower is existing even when no one knows I’m there.

Being an introvert to most people means I allow myself to be the victim. That if I’m alone for too long, I’m suffering from loneliness. And you love being the hero, don’t you? I’m supposed to see your cape and give you all the praise for rescuing me.

Thank you Superman, I was just a little hermit crab hidden away from the world and now I have the attention of the entire animal kingdom. However, is it because I’m this pretty little crab that sparks interest or because I’m at the bottom of the food chain surrounded by hungry predators? Who knows and who cares, right? As long as you know I exist, I won’t be alone.

I say, what I suffer from isn’t loneliness but judgement. It’s like my worth as a person is nothing unless you tell me otherwise. Which goes back to the question you ask me, why are you so quiet?

I still don’t have an answer for you.

In fact, I’ve stopped looking for an answer a long time ago. I just put earphones in and listen to music. I ignore your endless blabbering and stop listening to your meaningless words. I’d rather listen to music as it’s the best form of communication. I don’t have to say anything. It seems music has the superpower of knowing what I feel when I can’t form the words to express it.

If only, you had this power. If you did, maybe then, I’d talk more.

Or even better, you’d be okay if I didn’t. �8