tea.

the rim of my mug

smudged red from my lips

worry draining

in between sips.

Sigh. (fin.)

My alarm clock blasts its exasperating, never-ending lullaby,

but sensing my displeasure, ceases its ringing.

I open my eyes to the sound of rain pounding on my window and realize it's only Monday.

Eighteen more hours for the day to drag by.

I sigh.

Broken silence surrounds me as I walk the streets alone.

The rhythmical beating of raindrops on pavement is like white noise

accompanying me to school while it simultaneously soothes my soul.

I am myself - at peace, at ease.

I close my eyes.

Once again, springtime's popcorn embellishes every patch of grass I walk past,

eliciting nostalgia.

They're like little paper twist ties confining my fingers,

reminding me of all the petals I've wasted last August -

hoping to change the mind of a boy who spoke to me with words

each time I looked at him with feelings.

Those dainty little deceivers had me spilling my heart out,

confessing that he's caged butterflies in my stomach since day one.

Never again.

I take a second glace at those tiny white lies,

and I sigh.

Wandering alone aimlessly through crowded hallways,

the back of my shoe periodically scuffed by students too much in a rush.

I'm enjoying my own company but can't help but feel forsaken

when not one of my classmates bother to glance my way or render a wave.

How is it possible that I adore seclusion, but hate the feeling of loneliness?

Agonizing over the love-hate relationship between solitude and I,

Once again,

I sigh.

All the words that leave my mouth sound so entirely ignorant,

I begin to wonder, maybe it'd be better if I spoke absolutely nothing at all.

It's as if all I can do is helplessly watch her hurt,

her tears continuously raining and staining her cheeks.

Incompetence haunts me for being incapable of consoling her at her most vulnerable.

All I know are tight hugs and sympathetic pats on the back.

I couldn't possibly fathom how much she's going through,

or how it feels to entrust your sentiments to those who could so easily double-cross you.

All the the thoughts I want to reconstruct into words would shatter her heart.

I'm too inexperienced, I think, so I bite my tongue and hold her close.

I feel my heart drop from my ribcage.

I notice it's far from enough, but I know it'd only be detrimental if I tried.

I let out another sigh.

Exams are returned, and I'm fanatical.

I undeniably recall studying my precious hours of sleep away for this one.

Jubilantly flipping through pages of my marked test,

for once, I'm overjoyed with my achievement, thinking, they'd be proud.

When I turn around to see her merely satisfied with a mark eclipsing mine,

my fleeting feelings of assurance diminish to nothing.

She does it so astoundingly effortlessly;

I wonder, would they be prouder if she instead of I were their daughter?

The answer's painfully obvious, no longer do I question my feelings of discouragement.

My eyes linger from pages filled with doodles

towards the upper right corner of the room where he normally resides.

Anticipating his returned gaze, I am unexpectedly greeted by his absence.

My heart stops and my excitement dies.

I sigh.

Routinely and cheerfully, he asks about my day

as if expecting to hear the same old, “good, what about yours?”

But, not this time.

This time, I decide I'm tired of masking my feelings

behind a multitude of fake smiles and sugar-coated words.

Apprehensively, I pour my heart out to him,

and despite that he says nothing, I stare into his eyes and see that he understands.

How completely wonderful it is to find someone

who fathoms the intricacy of feeling too much,

and knows how painful it is when you believe everyone around you

sees you simply as a glass half full.

Who knew one glance could exhume you, could bring you to life so easily?

Although he doesn't utter a single word,

as he opens his arms wide and pulls me in, my consciousness withers

and I realize I'm simply a glass, nothing less.

For the first time in days, I gaze up at the dismal sky

I smile

and I sigh.

Sigh. (ver.1)

My alarm clock plays me the irritating, never-ending song of its people

It senses my indignation and ceases its ringing.

Subsequently, I open my eyes to the sound

of rain pounding on my windows and realize it's only Monday.

Eighteen more hours before the day goes by.

I sigh.

Silence surrounds me as I walk the streets alone.

The rhythmical beating of raindrops on pavement is like white noise

accompanying me to school while it simultaneously soothes my soul.

I am myself - at peace, at ease.

Closing my eyes,

I sigh.

Once again, springtime's popcorn embellishes every patch of grass I walk past,

bringing back the nostalgia, they're like little paper twist ties confining my fingers.

They remind me of all the petals I've wasted last August -

hoping to change the mind of a boy who spoke to me with words

each time I looked at him with feelings.

Those dainty little deceivers, had me spilling my heart out,

confessing that he's caged butterflies in my stomach since day one. 
Never again.

I take a second glace at those tiny white lies,

and I sigh.

Her and I – two sedentary creatures at the back of the ceramics classroom

engage in our morning routine, murmuring while reading papers and glossing sculptures,

quietly listening to the radio when suddenly Gangnam Style blasts on.

Turning to me, she rolls her eyes then shakes her head, retreating to her crossword puzzles.

Maybe today will turn out okay, I think to myself

as I'm helplessly and unconditionally drawn into the beat.

There's no one else nearby

I can't help but PSY.

Wandering alone aimlessly through crowded hallways,

the back of my shoe periodically scuffed by students too much in a rush.

Enjoying my own company but I can't help but feel forsaken

when not one of my classmates bother to glance my way or render a wave.

How is it possible that I adore seclusion, but hate the feeling of loneliness?

Agonizing over the love-hate relationship between solitude and I,

Once again,

I sigh.

All the words that leave my mouth are sounding so entirely ignorant,

I begin to wonder, maybe it'd be better if I spoke absolutely nothing at all.

It's as if all I can do is helplessly watch her hurt,

her tears continuously raining and staining her cheeks.

Feelings of incompetence haunt me for being incapable of consoling her at her most vulnerable.

All I know are tight hugs and sympathetic pats on the back.

No, I couldn't possibly fathom how much she's going through,

or how it feels to disclose your innermost sentiments to those around you.

Pondering whether to convey my thoughts into words which I know would clearly shatter her heart,

I'm too inexperienced, so I bite my tongue and hold her close.

I notice it's far from enough, but I know it'd only worsen if I truly tried.

I let out another sigh.

Exams are returned; and I'm fanatical.

I undeniably recall studying my precious sleep away for this one.

But as she hands mine back with pursed lips and a small shrug

I feel my heart drop from my ribcage.

My fingers shake and the lump in my throat triples in size each time

I think about how if they knew,
they'd shake their heads at me and reply once again

with another “I'm disappointed in you.”

I hate feeling like such a letdown,

closing my eyes to dam back the tears.

It'd be pathetic if I cry

so all I do is sigh.

Jubilantly flipping through pages of my marked test,

for once, I'm overjoyed with my achievement, thinking, they'd be proud.

When I turn around to see her merely satisfied with a mark eclipsing mine,
my fleeting feelings of assurance quickly diminish into nothing.
She does it so astoundingly effortlessly;
I wonder, would they be proud if she instead of I were their daughter?

The answer's painfully obvious, I no longer question why I'm so easily discouraged.

My eyes linger from pages filled with doodles

towards the upper right corner of the room where he normally resides.

Anticipating his returned gaze, I am unexpectedly greeted by his absence.

My heart stops and my excitement dies.
I sigh.

Routinely and cheerfully, he asks about my day

as if expecting to hear the same old, “good, what about yours?”

This time, I decide I'm tired of masking my feelings

behind a multitude of fake smiles and sugar-coated words.
Tentatively and apprehensively, I pour my heart out to him,
and despite that he says nothing, I stare into his eyes and see that he understands.

How completely wonderful it is to find someone

who fathoms the intricacy of feeling too much,

and knows how painful it is when you believe everyone around you 

sees you simply as a glass half full. 

Who knew one glance could exhume you, could bring you to life so easily?

Although he doesn't utter a single word, 

as he opens his arms wide and pulls me in, my consciousness withers

and I realize I'm simply a glass, nothing less.

For the first time in days, I gaze up at the dismal sky

I smile

and I sigh.

(RL)

Daisies.

Spring's lightly buttered, bittersweet popcorn

dainty gems freshly popped by Mother Nature

adorning the fields,

embellishing every patch of grass I walk past

Whispering,

Hey, pick me

See if he loves you back

Others see their pastel petals as silken ribbons

pearly white and yellow

delicately entwined with the springtime

their subtle beauty lacing the meadows

But not me.

In my eyes

they're hundreds of little paper twist ties confining my fingers,

Each wicked squeeze a permanent reminder,

imprisoning me with memories of August the year past

when I wasted my precious hours picking away at them

hoping I could change the feelings of a boy

Who speaks to me with words as I look at him with feelings

Who shatters my heart a little bit more every time he shakes his head

laughing, telling them, “She's just a friend.”

As if plucking off their limbs

could change the mind of a boy who tears me apart

each time he glances over his shoulder and gave me a thumbs up

as he interlocks his fingers with hers.

Each time ending

with me forcing back the lump in my throat

shaking my head no; it's not okay at all

only to see the back of his head.

But, how could I possibly confess to a boy,

who I've been unconditionally in love with for six years,

that he's caged butterflies in my stomach since day one?
That he's got me suffering through the intricacy of feeling too much?

If only I could change how he felt,

I most definitely would

these dainty little deceivers

left my heart and I trembling, whimpering

“I wish I could.”

I know better than to trust those posies,

those deceitful dime-sized delinquents

growing in a garden of green.

Because each of those

tiny white lies

have fifty-five petals.

(RL)