Tag Archives: poem


‚ÄčI am one that’s quite funny, 
if you ask me; 
I scream of so much irony – 
did you see?

Give me space and a degree – 
a virtue I will embody;
compress me and you’ll see
how nasty just I can be.

See, when you talk as if you are me: 
You open yourself to vulnerability, 
and challenge everyone, “Who will be, 
what will be, the downfall of my morality?”

See, when you walk as if you are me: 
People will think you’re just as funny, 
When you start feeling angsty
That you forget the ‘marks and niceties.

Did you see?
I scream of so much irony – 
if you ask me, 
I am one that’s quite funny.

A Mirror.

There’s this girl I see every morning
Her eyes are red and all puffy
She looks at me blankly, stares at her hands on her lap and sighs heavily
But when she looks back up–
She smiles.
And that confuses me.

There’s this girl I occasionally see
Every afternoon wearing a cute oversized tee
Her eyes are no longer puffy
She sits with a lot of people and they all laugh loudly
She speaks fast and makes those jokes that are cheesy
And one time, I heard one of them people
“Man, that girl is cool-
she makes this whole place happy.”
And they all thought she’s sunny.
And hearing that made me feel funny.

‘Cause this girl that I see every morning?
She spends her night staring at the sky and sobbing silently
She puts up sad records that make even me lonely
And when she sees me looking, she smiles sadly
“I’m okay, please don’t worry”.

And I want to hug her and make her cry to me.
But instead I also smile sadly.
’cause that’s just the kind of glass I was meant to be.

(Written by yours truly. Reposted from my previous blog.)


one of the artworks found at the Pinto Art Museum

What if that day comes
When you’re broken
and someone comes to fix you up
Sews the pieces back together
Tells you that the stitches
Make you more beautiful
and you believe
Because you saw the many little hearts
That he made
To cover the cracks.
And it’s beautiful
Like the color of your hair
When the first rays of sun shine on it.

What if that day comes
When the thread starts to thin
And the little hearts that once covered the cracks
start to fall out
And he comes back with but a pair of scissors
To take out the remaining threads
Out of the cracks they used to hide
Because he doesn’t like the way your hair
Shines under the street lamps.

That it was your hair
He used as thread
To do the little hearts
That once covered your cracks.

What if that day comes
When he says to you
That he found the broken pieces so beautiful
And intriguing
That he decided to work on it
Like you’re a puzzle
But then he realized
That he doesn’t like
the whole picture
Of you
So he decides
To cut you
Into pieces
Much finer
Than when he first found you.

( This is a work in progress. Or not. Yea, maybe not. )