Character Portraits, Day to Day Writing

#67

Here are simple tricks to make people like you:

1. Don’t shame them when they laugh too loud – join them in their candid laughter, even if you don’t find the situation humorous.

2. Listen to their secrets, and never argue with what they feel. Everyone’s emotions are valid and legitimate, they’re not talking to you to tell them how to feel rightly, they’re talking to you to listen to themselves narrate the story and meaning of their own lives, and to include you in that epic.

And 3. When they talk to you about what makes them passionate, about dreams and wishes that bares their naked excitement they can’t hide in their eyes, don’t interrupt them – encourage them to tell you more, and join them in their wild, pounding passion – be the listener you would want another person to be, while you tell them your own story.

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Day to Day Poetry, Day to Day Writing

#66

I met her again, a creature I once lost, re-united in the early hours of the morning, stretching on a blue bed with the sunlight kissing her cheeks, optimistic about living her afternoon, her world now divided between the present and the future, no longer existing just for today — there isn’t a single tale from her past you could ask her to retell or recount for your sake, she is only capable of desire, so uncontrollable that it is barely legible, and today I captured it, even for just a moment, I caught her at a standstill, so completely different from her continuous fluidity and ever-changing identity – today I knew what she meant – having shaken off the dust and grit of ten dry years, obliterating the fog that consumed my mental capacities and shouldered my anxiety, today and always, however she speaks to me, in half truths, single stories, contemporary jargon, in microscopic signals on her eyes, lips, or hands, however inexpressible her thought, however deep into the crevices of her mind she hides in, straight from the surface to the depths – today I knew, even standing on the extreme verge of self-love, destruction and sobriety, I knew what she meant.

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Day to Day Poetry

#65

Wish I could still be pre-drinking,
and make it to a crowded place, limping
from high heels that tipple, short skirts riding
up to lace thongs worn proudly for a night,
lost in the morning,
fog in the mirror, birds singing, sunlight streaming
through a stranger’s window,
chaotic events memorialized in poetry
a few days later, smudged eyeliner
in an empty coffee house, amidst broken leather chairs,
torn out pages from a book with highlighted passages
meant for re-reading and then never re-used again –
to be happily snuggling into my blankets,
and take out my phone to capture a selfie worth posting,
assured people are scrolling through their feed and pausing,
appreciating,
what I put out for them –
wishful thinking, endless wanting
for validation from
people I don’t even care about,
to be working a 9 to 5 job and doing things I despise
just so I can come home to an apartment I can undoubtedly pay for –
and not worry about making ends meet or living
from paycheque to paycheque –
give up passion for a steady stream of breakfast, lunch, dinner
without having to compromise on health,
not having to rely on chemicals to ease that monster anxiety, peacekeeping,
serenity achieved through the purest of means,
instead of this day to day surviving,
battling every morning  when it’s the last thing I ever want to do,
debilitating.

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Day to Day Poetry, poetry

#64

Choosing to love is
ripping apart old skin
exposing vulnerable flesh underneath
wet, pulsing meat ready to be
pierced, torn and engorged –

or

engulfed in the old skin of your beloved
and promises of eternal care and
safekeeping,

destroyed only to
resurface,
molded together

yet

the only way to get there
is to stand alone,
a gaping, open wound,

trusting

waiting.

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Day to Day Poetry

#63

It’s the sword of Damocles,
waiting at every mountaintop,
camouflaged within the tempting, seductive,
clear blue sky.

It waits for me,
in every corner of every dark alley I live in,
from Manila to Toronto,
an inescapable cage made
especially for me.

Whether I’m performing magic,
teaching Shakespeare,
or selling ice-cream –

A leather collar for every world I live in,
bonded helplessly to
my own
insanity.

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