“I don’t know what frightens me more, the power that crushes us or our endless ability to endure it.” – gregory david roberts







power.






kornchild.

the snorks.

At the furthermost reach of the sea
where Atlantis sinks under the wake of the waves,
I have come to heal my life.

I knit together like a broken arm.
The salt fills the crevices of bone.
The sea takes all the fragments of my lives
& grinds them home. – erica jong






helpless.

How do I attempt to fix the world?
How do I save all the animals who get tortured everyday?
How do I save people from loneliness?
How do I live outside of the system – a system that has fooled us into freedom?
How do I end racism?
How do I be kind to myself?
How do I make zoos illegal?
How do I stop the destruction?
How do I set the world free?

I render myself, helpless. I feel like the things I am doing to help really aren’t doing that much at all.

I am a prisoner of my own environment. To fit in, I need to toe the line. Have a credit card, expect a diamond ring upon engagement, like shopping, look pretty, try my hardest to stay ‘youthful’, be normal. Fit in. But all I want to do at dinner parties is talk politics, religion, the intricate detail of social problems…but then I can’t fit in with many of the people I know, even my own family. They’re not interested in the things I have to say. So instead, I sit there and pretend like I give a shit about the ridiculousness of it all.

the moon.

Warm rain greases my hair, extinguishes nothing.
My veins glow like trees.
The dogs are tearing a fox. This is what it is like
A read burst and a cry
That splits from it’s ripped bag and does not stop
With that dead eye
And the stuffed expression, but goes on
Dyeing the air,
Telling the particles of the clouds, the leaves, the water
What immortality is. That it is immortal. – sylvia plath

amanda garcia.

lit from the inside.






if heaven was;

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
— Pablo Neruda

the sadness

Nothing feels worse than the silence; between two people who are wondering if love is enough.

Next Page »
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
(c) 2017 Mel Tjoeng | powered by WordPress with Barecity | Theme Design by Nüde Creative