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Wish

I whisper my wish to the starts above. 

I'm granted rains and wind. 

I whisper my wish to the sun 

I'm granted hot summer. 

I whisper my wish to moon. 

I'm granted clounds and snow. 

I whisper my wish to the people 

I'm granted pain and disgust. 

I whisper my wish to myself. 

I'm granted trust and strength. 

Chair

I watch you read the newspapers and sipping your tea

Basking in the morning sun and little care.

You talk about nothing and everything

I see the shadow of the time as it creeps.

You sit on the chair and talk to the wind

I sit back and watch you.

You have slowed down and your voice is laboured

I watch you and sit back.

Your brown eyes and the greying hair test the time

I can now see the final line.

You have your back now hunched as you are giving a final bow

I can now only ponder.

You grow older with each passing minute

I am still frozen in the time

You sit there sipping tea on your chair

I can only say goodbye and take care.

Rough edges

I'm made of rough edges.

Made from torn pages and scribbled papers

Made from broken glass glued together

I'm made up of things.

I'm built on the stones thrown at me

My garden is watered by my tears and blood.

So the next time you say that I've had it easy.

Remember this human is built back from scratch.

Things weren't handed to me.

Check out this post… "Saying your Good Bye".

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Saying your Good Bye

  Say your Goodbyes and shed a tear or two because life is never the same straight line.. it has its turns.. blocked roads and a

“Every time you say her beauty is only beauty because she is broken, her mournful is her pretty, how the right man will fix her, she bares her teeth. She summons Athena from the marrow of her bones, she calls upon Artemis and her wolves to sharpen her claws, she brings out Nemesis in her eyes, a determination so powerful it could turn the sky storm black, and then she looks at you and asks, “Do you really think I need a man to fix me when the Goddesses have my back?””

— Nikita Gill, If You Romanticise My Broken, My Broken Will Bite Back.

Chanyeol, writing poetry in a notebook angrily: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.

Junmyeon: Are you okay?

Chanyeol: Baekhyun stole my fucking garlic bread.

Will the elusive pigeon fly away ?

Fuck Pigeons by Felicia Chiao.

Talented. Refined. Iconic.