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A Sweet Dessert

Every winter turns to spring; vivid memories it doth bring. Every summer, a clear sky; love letters to my candy eye. I wish the weather be good to me; ice kachang and kiisseli. Now it's autumn, and I might fall; anywhere with you, or not at all.

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Gravel

Who could love a broken person? One who hurts for no rhyme or reason? I'm like an anchor; I'll drag her down. It's evident that I shouldn't hang around. For she is gold and I am gravel, the little I've built will soon unravel. Should I tell her? Should I not? What's the point? I'll be soon forgot.

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My Midsummer Deadline

Hiding my wants in plain sight; too shy to make a move. My darkened heart, it gains light, whenever I think of you. I'm scared to tell: "I'm under your spell. I wish you would be mine." So wish me well, I'll ring the bell. My midsummer deadline.

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Tennis

They say “don’t date a tennis player” ‘cause love means nothing to them but hidden in your complex layers, I see a shining gem. I wish love were an easy game; I wish I were a catch. I wish you would feel the same, we’d be like 'game, set, match’!

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A clear shot

Intrusive thoughts, or fairy tail dreams? Out by the bay, and sun-kissed streams. Prancing in my mind, you live rent-free, but it's hard to move if the tank's empty. I aim never to make a wrong inference; spending my time in but silent limerence. I've never been a gambler: of all I've got, but if a sign is shown, I'll take the clear shot.

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Happy by Forty

Your fire burns bright, alight with hope, yet one does wonder: how you can cope? A broken promise; a misplaced faith. The world keeps pounding, yet you don't cave. Smart and talented; beautiful and kind. A diamond amongst coal, you're hard to find. When all is said, I wish you'd see: You are the hope, for the hopeless like me.

I have full faith, that you will be: still with hope, Happy by Forty.

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A candle lit

While these gray skies stay blue, I must cherish every second of it; and while my aim still stays true, I can move closer bit by little bit.

A minor step, a major leap, hedonic treadmill where I sleep. Another set, a mountain steep, promises to myself I plan to keep.

When I become blue like the sky, and my mood turns from gay into gray, before I leave here; before I die; I'd like to feel how it feels to be okay.

Well, while these gray skies stay blue, I should make the most of it; So that when the day turns less new, I can keep a candle lit.

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My clock runs short

Tick tock, tick tock, and the clock runs short. Tick tock, tick tock, and I'm soon forgot.

Have I plateaued? Is this my peak? Am I another echo; just a cry of the weak?

I wish I were a hammer, to break this ceiling of glass. I wish I could run faster, to not finish dead last.

I'm stuck forever in limbo; I'm chasing blind dreams. The lights are dim so it is what it seems.

Some losses are tragedies, so I might make it quick. Some losses are tragedies; I'm a statistic.

Tick tock, tick tock, and my clock runs short. Tick tock, tick tock, let me be soon forgot.

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No place for me

Rent is due, and my money’s gone; my time spent slaving for so long. Pay is low, “no room for raises”; wasting my youth showing two faces.

I smile when you say “I’ll try my best”, but we both think I’m placing last. I’m selling my mind for this small sum. I swallow my words and I keep mum.

I’ll take this flight and accept the job, but in my mind, already planned to hop. “There’s no budget”: I call your bluff. Wait and see who has the last laugh.

A mere stepping stone in my FI/RE march. A mere stop for water while my throat is parched. I hold no loyalty to this here fort, for every request receives retort.

The highest bidder shall have my soul, as my mind grows sharp, and my actions bold. I will not stay and be your slave. I will not falter. I will not cave.

Only time will tell what’s in store for me: whether I made it or I drowned in sea, whether less jaded or hung from tree. All I know: this’ not the place for me. ——————————————- Originally published on 16/03/22

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Baggage

I moved to a different city with hope of brighter days. I packed up all my things, and then I moved away. My baggage follows where I go; I wish it would just stay. Even though my world has changed; My pain: it stays the same. Traded in my eternal summer; I couldn’t stand the heat. Traded for this slush-shit weather, snow beneath my feet. People come and ask: “What is your first impression?” “I haven’t slipped on ice, but further into depression.” I’m just like a nomad, no place to call my home. Maybe I’ll soon go mad, being all alone. Maybe I am a nomad, with nowhere left to go. Maybe I will not go mad, but I will die alone. ——————————————- Originally published on 05/02/22

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Laundry

Another load of laundry, another week has passed. When will we be free, men of the lower class? Paying bills to play the game, I grow tired; weary. Every day is just the same; my needs, secondary. It’s barren, it’s apparent: I’m going to die alone. Never achieving anything, I’m going to die unknown. Yet I still believe; My hamartia is hope: “I would be a better man than how I’ve learnt to cope.” ——————————————- Originally published on 19/12/21

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The Price of Success

‘Faking it til you make it’, over said and overdone. A mask to go outside, a mask until we’ve won. To hide my truth from leery eyes, from the world, quite unkind. Give the audience what it wants; my needs, I pay no mind. I’ve learnt to say anything; what they want to hear. People so easily read; their motives, crystal clear. To lose my sense of self, a minor price to pay if they like my show at end of business day. ——————————————- Originally published on 13/06/21 Submitted to ‘OF ZOOS Issue 10.1: SHOW & TELL’ but ended up not being selected.

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Set on my hope

Sugar on my lips, venom in my heart. Tears in my eyes, I won’t fall apart. The stolen promise of a better life, It cuts deep like a sharpened knife. As I walk, I wish, I wonder: What lies ahead? Ahead here yonder? I cling on to my one escape rope, as the sun sets, set on my hope. ——————————————- Originally published on 16/12/20

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Mitä mä haluan?

Put a pen to the paper and here I write: There’s no good reason to be here tonight. No talent. No skill. Nowhere in life. Wasting my time. Lacking a drive.

This is a struggle that I’m bound to find. Mediocre in body. Mediocre in mind. Trying everything but nothing sticks, Trying to understand by nothing clicks.

My mental demons seek to kill. Feeding me thoughts against my will. I feel tortured. I feel trapped. Though my path was an easy lap.

I should be thankful. Of this, I’m sure. Many peers have yet got here. Why do I always feel three steps behind? That I’m never on beat and always denied?

Climbing the ladder takes far too long. Took two years just to get to bronze. I see other people at my age Shining platinum, on the front page.

No way to advance, no way, I can’t. Burning my money, paying rent. Won’t even start to chase my dream. In my mind, unworthy deemed.

What really stops me from what I want? Ehkä mä en tiedä mitä haluan. And maybe it is I want far too much. Too many paths, but nowhere to start. ------------------------------------------- Originally published on 31/10/20

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Asymptomatic

Open sores; they don’t open doors. No one wants to see the darkness in me. Bleeding, bruised, and badly battered. No one has to see the hell that’s in me.

I am toxic. I am poison. Rotten to the core, and bad to the bone. I spit venom, with no reason. Laying on the floor, And I am alone.

Excellence is the shield and I wield it sometimes but I don’t always do. I am out in the field when I lose my will and what I have had to do.

There is but no need to panic. I am but asymptomatic.

The pain I carry but in vain. Just push forward, just stay in lane.

Bleeding, bruised, and badly battered. There is but no need to panic. Open sores; they don’t open doors. I have to be: asymptomatic. ------------------------------------------- Originally published on 31/10/20 Minor edits on 16/12/20 

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morning light

A place to write poems; A platform for prose. A latch for dear pigeons; With wings of dark crows.  I’m standing on runways so I can take flight. Patiently waiting until morning light. ------------------------------------------- Originally published on 25/8/15 as “untitled”

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Vulture.

Like a dog to a master, Chills the skin to bone. As days past faster, Feels she’s all alone. Running out of options, As you leave your prime. Quickly out of fashion, As I approach mine. Words cut like A knife through the heart. Hand me my pen, Tell me where I should start. You, Vulture, Shall I tear at your wings? And you, Harlot, Your throat, That you never may sing. ------------------------------------------- Originally published on 22/2/15 as “I hope you like my leftovers, Vulture.”