A Rebirth Story

“I want to be reborn,” she said decisively.

So she plucked the moon and marinated it in poison;

she ground oleander and water hemlock,

and drank the decoction from her porcelain tea cup.

She gathered the stars—near and far, and far and near—

into her bosom, burning her skin

until she was stripped to the bone.

Then she swallowed the sun

and let it burn her further,

until all her wishes, her desires, her hatred,

and her attachments that had been deeply engraved in her bones

became nothing but whispers and ash,

carried by the wind

and scattered into nothingness…

“I want to be born again…”

Then she woke, and became a butterfly.

Luna x Sol

She was the moon, mysterious and ethereal;

He was the sun, bright and magnificent.

The day she was born

Was the day he died;

His arrival,

Was the day of her departure.

They were each other’s destiny,

Yet they were never destined to meet;

They were each other’s fated pair.

And both unaware, followed different orbits.

Though fated, they chased and ran,

And followed others

Without pausing to realize the restlessness in their hearts.

They were always a distance away, sometimes a breath,

But their paths would never cross

-Maybe not in this lifetime,

But perhaps in the next…

Hopefully, in the next.

A Darkness

Sometimes, the ghosts you’ve hidden come to haunt you.

Despite your continuous practice of meditation and tuning them out,

they catch up eventually


They latch on to you with a death grip, refusing to let go.

And even when you bury them deep,

they’ve already learned to howl,

and their screams echo


bouncing off walls like a ricocheting bullet.

Their shrieks grow louder


as they crawl, and writhe

like a group of crazies struggling to free themselves

from the straitjacket that confine their limbs.

Your ghosts have grown forceful,

as they bang their heads against the door

that prevents you from losing your grip on your rationality.

You hear them scraping their nails,

leaving bloody trails along the walls

—chipped nails scatter on the filthy floor.

And along with the thudding on the door,

you hear them twisting the knob one way and then the other

—clicking, clickety-clack…

The sounds combine into an almost catchy rhythm

with an unforgettable beat.

And you find yourself grooving along.

There is no fear…only a realization

—You’ve fallen too far for saving.

The Faithful Lover

The faithful lover remains steadfast in their love;

Constant, in their trust;

Fearless, and generous in giving,

without regard for gains and losses

—until they themselves are spent….

They accept what they are given

and never ask for more;

Sometimes, the faithful lovers

forget themselves as they continue to forgive

their lover’s sins of commission,

yet not forgetting; not because they are keeping score,

but to remind themselves

in the moments when they are alone

—perhaps during their countless monologues in the shower;

perhaps on nights that are too quiet

with only the chirping sounds of crickets left for company—

that love is real,

and that every sacrifice will be worth it in the end

—until they are numb, and no longer recognize themselves….

Oftentimes, the faithful lover deliberately

ignores their delicate boundaries,

breaching the fine line between compromise and blind submission….

However, when faced with the universe’s disenchantment,

even the weak can muster up the courage

to walk away;

shedding off their mottled skin that has lost its glow

—eroded by their endless abandonment of their old self

to accommodate and adjust to their lover’s demands,

continuously forgiving…

Yet some who manage to walk away

forget to also forgive themselves;

they carry the blame on their shoulders,

asking what they lacked,

how or why or where they failed,

why they weren’t enough….

Some faithful lovers eventually find their peace, with time

—they are fortunate enough to heal, and find lasting happiness

amid the chaos and their struggles;

But sadly, some aren’t as lucky, and the blow pushes them

deeper into the mire

—losing themselves and never finding the strength

to look inside themselves and examine their scars,

instead they let it fester, and bleed…

and they bleed on others…

settling for dysfunctional affection and dependence….

Love begets love, and the faithful lover deserves a faithful lover too.

A BL Story

Two guys walk into a bar and order drinks.

One orders a whiskey sour,

the other an old fashioned.

There was instant chemistry,

and the cozy ambiance had them drinking

to Troye Sivan’s Seventeen –

sipping and swallowing the melody,

breathing in the rhythm,

and ingesting the alluring scent of whiskey

mixed in the atmosphere of quiet conversations.

The lyrics, reminiscent of their wild youth

that has mellowed with age and

the clinking sound

of ice melting in the glass.

The melody, entangled gracefully

with the meandering cigarette smoke

as it wafted from intimate corners.

They found themselves drunk

on whiskey and love.

[If] Atlas Shrugged

You’ve been holding the heavens on your shoulder for so long,

enduring for an eternity without respite.

If you shrug, then the heavens would fall,

and the earth would shake.

Olympus would be thrown into chaos.

Perhaps they’d think you’re inciting another rebellion

– another Titanomachy.

But the truth is, you’ve been thinking of your fellow titans,

your brothers and sisters in arms.

Wondering who has it worse –

your eternity or their suppression in Tartarus?

Guilt prevents you from shrugging.

So you continue to bear the weight of the heavens,

atoning for the tragic beauty of your rebellion.

Instead of “I love you,” I said…

There’s only a few I can recall since

it’s been a while

and the memories are slowly fading

with each day that pass in a blur.

Take care…

Don’t forget to eat…

Take your time. I’ll be here waiting…

Relax…I’m sure you did great!

You were an answer to one of my prayers…

This song reminded me of you…

Let’s start over!

Thank you…

Good morning…

Good night…

I’ll be fine…I hope you’ll be happy

I’m letting go now…



It never really goes away…

It comes and goes

Like the tide – it ebbs and flows;

Like the waves – it crashes to the shore then recedes;

Sometimes it erupts like a volcano after a period of dormancy

spewing magma from its core and flows along the slopes

scorching everything in its wake;

Sometimes it bleeds out

Like cloth fibers releasing dye when thrown in the wash

mixing in the water – ruining everything else that’s soaked in it;

And the worst thing, perhaps

is how it lurks in the background

of every thought…every encounter…every conversation,

concealing itself within gentle words of encouragement;

It hums constantly at a barely audible frequency

until a trigger amplifies the volume.

Home is…

a room filled with the melodious laughter of a baby
after falling on their tushie
as they bravely take their first step;

two people enjoying a cup of coffee together
while watching the color of the sunset change slowly,
from bright gold to orange to a red afterglow;

everyone gathering around the kitchen table
for breakfast, arms overlapping,
eager to get that perfectly cooked sunny side up egg –
crispy edges, whites mostly set and a runny yolk;

cooking a pot of creamy macaroni soup
during cold, rainy days and serving it piping hot
for that extra warmth…when cuddles just aren’t enough;

that safe corner..that safe space
to act silly…to let go…to cry and breakdown
when the world becomes too much;

that genuine hug…that gentle pat…
a kind word…a warm smile…
that soothing voice lulling all the bad dreams away;

wherever your heart feels most at peace
amidst the rancor and the noise outside.