Things I Wish I Could Say

If you understand,
Why did you turn away?
If you could take it back,
Would things go differently?
And if I said I’m sorry…
Would it mean a thing?
Through all the good –
The bad seemed unnecessary.

All of the pages,
Unwritten at best.
Left torn
To savor the rest;
I only hope you can see my side…
I may have lost you,
But I couldn’t lose my pride.

If you lost the greatest,
Why did I anticipate it?
If you saw the hope,
Why did you choke?
And if I told you how I felt,
Would you listen with stealth?
Through all the pain,
There was something to gain.

Broken and unsure –
My heart is still sore.
Unable to heal;
Full potential is feared.
All I can say is, I miss the day…
The times we actually meant what we would say;

If you understand,
Why did you turn away?
If you could take it back,
Would things go differently?
And if I said I’m sorry…
Would it mean a thing?
Through all the good –
The bad seemed unnecessary.

Do you agree
Or shall we just brawl?
What else matters
If you can’t have it all?
Spoiled or rotten;
Thirst took the shade.
All in all,
It’s about what we made;

Things I wish I could say…
I wish it could have stayed the same.

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It’s Been A While

I feel like I’ve been here before…

Too close for comfort,

(a shining eye sore).

Desperate need for something, or;

A quarter for the piggy bank,

An unarmed ship that almost sank

I feel like I’ve been here before…

Titles for engaged and sure,

Always contemplating wanting more.

Written wrongs and humming songs

Lost in translation,

Who was it that realistically made us?

Me or the “I”,

Them or the living

(We are only human beings).

Confined to tight aspects

Only to be charged with false assets.

Putting it past, taken by rust,

This disaster (among us);

I feel like I’ve been here before…

Accusations have a sting;

Chirping birds and all they bring.

Merrily, we made it through

What was intended – our to do.

Waiting for the line to ring,

Over consume – and binge.

Never enough, but absolutely stuffed

(Into straightened alignments)

Re(wind) and fill the trenches.

Depths of the pits;

I feel like I’ve been here before,

Always contemplating more…

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The Only Way to Go is Up (Or to Give Up)

Moving forward is my constant struggle,

I learned I could love again, but there is a lot on my shoulders,

A lot to say, left over

(I am even learning to pray)

I wish you the best and I hope you are okay…

The Only Way to Go is Up (Or to Give Up)

Please put the bottle(s) down,

You are such a nervous wreck.

Knuckles so dry, they could cut ice on the break;

(On edge),

All I had, all I could do

Once upon the time, I knew you.


Every day is deemed a struggle, when you find yourself so far under.

(Considering) the well won’t hit rock bottom

Well, it’s rock solid.

The gravel falls with the travels you call nervous breakdowns;

I never meant to play you, but it was over before it even started.


Not enough in common to feel the voices calling,

And now, that I have found the one

You act like you have none…

Maybe you are better off without me,

(Always seemed to be).

We both have a lot of problems,


Still, I root for you to get better

(the stormy weather is near).

Silver linings will never provide us with the comfort we wanted to endear.

For, inside, instilled thoughts of fear recover,

In the hands of another who is fairly similar.


All that had broken out was ugly,

A side I launched aside, but I was not treated right.

The guilt floods my brain, my mind

Forgiveness is in vain (in my name),

but resentment is an easier price to pay

(it just did not feel right).


I am in search – rediscovery of the part of me

(The one which you stole)

To treat another in the way you truly want to be.

You fed me, made me this way,

I do not blame you (though),

For you opened my eyes to see,

I was a fool to selfishness.

I tried;

I wished the glass wouldn’t shatter,

But in the end,

I need more than you can fathom.

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This poem is to be turned into a song to be accompanied by an acoustic guitar. I was inspired to write this when I was at a cafe called Natura in Orlando, Florida. It was open mic night and a young Asian female, from a foreign country but living in Seattle, spilled her heart and shared her voice on stage. Her songs were beautiful, her musical talents were amazing and I was floored at how wonderfully she sang. This is only a rough draft, but I want to share my first version to show the process. I am not a song writer, nor do I even know how to play guitar. But this is to remind myself and others that anything is possible. One day, I will learn how to flawlessly strum a guitar. One day, I will record this. And one day, hopefully, I will be able to rack up the courage to sing in front of an audience, just like that girl did. I congratulate her on her bravery and a job well done.

For right now, I want to share a part of my story, some of my words and my wisdom with anyone willing to read this blog. I hope you enjoy. Any and all feedback is highly welcomed.

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A Favor to the Disfavored

For a couple of years now I have wanted to donate my hair to cancer patients or some sort of organization that supplied the victims of unfortunate traumatic circumstances with something they need to feel better about themselves, and in this case, I knew all along it was going to be hair. Since ninth grade, the length of my hair has progressively gotten longer. I grew it out, refusing to cut above my shoulders, after receiving a haircut I was not very fond of at the age of 15 or 16. (Looking back, it wasn’t that bad, I just wasn’t happy with myself so how could I be happy with the hair on my head?)
new one mmeee


During the previous few months, my hair had become a nuisance. I would touch it constantly (a very obsessive compulsion that pulls out hair strand by strand) and it would always get stuck under the straps of my backpack. It took a while to style, and it became too much to handle and deal with. I also felt that with an new, unfamiliar, upbeat and positive outlook on life (what I am at least striving to maintain), I should begin the process with a different hairstyle to reflect this novel approach. When the courage finally sank in (and let’s be real – it felt like quite an impulse), I visited my hairdresser, whom I have gone to since that (in my eyes) poorly styled haircut.


Now, finding an organization to donate hair to seems like an easy task, but with all the restrictions put on donations these days, it was more of a struggle to find one than I had originally assumed. Google was my helper in this instance. The typical organizations that accept hair for cancer patients, such as Pantene or Locks of Love, only accept (at minimum) 8″, no dyed or gray hair. However, although my hair is, and was not, gray, it surely was dyed. Then I came across, what I feel, is a blessing for myself and for the children…Children With Hair Loss (CWHL). I have always been an advocate for any and all organizations that help children fight diseases, addictions and traumas, and this seemed like a perfect fit.

I love short hair, to the extent that I do not know if I could ever let it grow out long again. It is said that the universe and God are the only creations that know how many hairs are on our heads, but with my vivid and crazy warped imagination and dreamscape, I know deep down that it does not matter. What matters is the person on the inside – the generous, kindred spirits and souls that are willing to give up such an unnecessary proceeding to a higher and better cause. These children need a spark of life and empowerment to help them get through their woes and troubles…and I want to help give them that. I need to give them at least that. I gave up 8 inches, with some to spare, and with no hesitation, for children who had zero. Bless their hearts and souls, for they need it more than I do at this current stage.


Don’t get me wrong, I love having hair, to the extent that I would be miserable if I did not have any at all. But having the privilege and advantages I possess in life, and with the ability to donate, volunteer and give, this is one cause I think is completely appropriate and one I am truly fond of. I hope some day I will be able to donate another pony tail of hair for these young souls, who are destined for pure greatness.


A non-profit organization that provides children who are struggling from disorders who have lost their hair due to medically-related treatments, with hair replacement. They also may return once a year, up until 21 years of age, making it vastly available to those who truly need to feel beautiful.

Fool’s Gold

What a pleasantly haunting memory;

Of that which was once pure, untamed by mediocrity.

A beautiful tragedy in awe of the foreseen.

Sceneries of desired beings,

Pages of black and white readings,

The lingering scents of that which may never seek true.

Living too often in fear of actuality,

Hiding in films of warped reality,

Mistaken for epitomes of doom.

Cowering in corners too cramped –

Not enough room…

Lies put upon childs locked in bedrooms.

Drowning in has beens,

Up and down casualties,

Candid typography.

Texts of life versus death,

Holograms of what is to come next.

Diseases of upbringings,

Callous without reason.

Deeming anxieties and priorities of others,

While no one else bothers.

Singing off tune to a beat played for unfortunate drones,

Soft, subtle and distant moans.

Drawing lines within grains of salt and sand,

Coming to terms with a pitiful crowd –

An uncharted land,

A ferocious town,

While plugging ears occupied by infected sounds.

An audience begging for a witness…

To expose a color not meant for one another.

Casted shadows and unbearable prowess,

A fate that is a contemplate in the world’s abounds


The right to remain deceitful or truthful is useful in tactics.

Signs begging of strict animosity,

To only please…

But to play the game like a fool,

Causes sharp tools to remain blunt with ease.

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