I suppose I don't have the right to say I'm disappointed in you.

After all, I failed by not being there enough. I guess that's the worst part of this, for me.

But don't come up bullshit excuses for an apology. If you gave up, then that's because you chose to give up.

You chose this. Now take down that title. You don't deserve it.

A Letter to a Struggling Artist

This is a message to any artist who has ever felt an overwhelming sense of doubt, a feeling of being trapped and unheard in a voice of thousands of others, who have felt like they wanted to give up. It is a letter to anyone who has thought that maybe everyone else was right about them- that you’re wasting your time on art. This is to try to prove to you that you cannot let them win. Especially not now, at what may be your lowest point.

First. One of the main problems many artists seem to encounter is the question of whether or not they can even be considered an artist. You might be wondering if you’re even worth being called one. Here’s your answer – you are an artist. As long as you are doing something that you think is art, as long as you are doing it because you want to, as long as you are doing it because you cannot imagine yourself being more free than doing anything else – then you are an artist. You have been since the first moment you decided up a paintbrush, a quill, a camera – and said that it would be the extension of yourself because it felt right. As long as you are creating something that hasn’t previously been there, as long as you are creating something that only you can, as long as you are making and continuing to make art – then you will always be an artist.

Second. People will try to make you believe that what you are doing is not important. They will tell you that it is inconsequential, and that other jobs will contribute more to society. Do not listen to them. These are the people who have not found that a book can bring you to thousands of worlds, that you can save humanity in a video game, that fictional characters can show us to be our own heroes, that music can be an anthem in our daily battles – these are people who have not learned that art can save lives. What you can do is a miracle that alchemists have been trying to achieve for centuries. You can create images out of simple chemicals meant to imitate colors. You have  made emotion out of a combination of different sounds. You have the capacity to craft a human being from a combination of only a set number of letters, out of ink, out of paper – art is our living proof that magic is out there. It is ours to breathe in and craft with – all you have to do is believe. It is a sorcery that transcends distances and barriers, and you can see the world through someone else’s eyes, almost as if you have experienced their life first-hand. Art is our source of real, human empathy. It is the greatest evidence that we are not alone. Do not let anyone tell you that what you do is not important.

Third. Often, you will question if you are any good at what you do. You may join classes which give you an “F” for the painting you spent hours on. You may be rejected time and time again by various publishers. You may watch other artists you know gain success and wonder if you really are wasting your time – if you can even contribute anything to the world of art. That is fantastic. Every moment you overcome this fear and decide to continue making art, you are proving to everyone that you deserve to be an artist. Art takes courage. Courage entails telling your fear that it is not as important as it will make you feel it is.

The reason art requires courage is because you will be trying to do something no one has ever done before. This means that you are challenge what has previously been accepted as possible, as acceptable, as the truth. This is why censorship is used to stifle revolutions and why art can offend so many people. Not possessing courage means you are not strong enough to be yourself and to continue being yourself. This is one of the most important things you need as an artist. In a world that keeps saying that we are limited, you need the drive to believe that limits are only as big as you allow them to be. There is a reason the universe is continuously expanding.

People used to think flight was impossible. It may not have happened exactly how we predicted it would, but that’s one of the great things about human achievement – it rarely turns out the way many might have imagined it would, because someone has dared to imagine it differently.

So be brave. Believe your art is worth it. Believe you are worth your art. It will not be easy – no one ever told you it would be. You always have the option to stop- to simply accept the world others want you to live in. But it would be a shame for you to not take the opportunity to change the world by simply creating new ones. It is the reason dictators do not like art that criticizes them. It’s the reason science is driven by science fiction of occasion. The world needs your art, whatever it may be. The world needs your eyes. You can never predict how your art will be experienced by someone – you can change a life. You can save one.

Children need to grow up in a world where there are still sources of magic out there. Wonder has become a scarce resource. Every piece of art you contribute adds more wonder to the world.

You have chosen a difficult road, but it is free and chaotic and unpredictable. It has no rules and therefore no guides.

The road you have chosen is a blank canvas, a new sheet of paper, a silence that can become a song – the journey itself is art. Every path is completely different for every artist. And no one else can replicate yours.

Create your path and do not quit on it. Because more than just the world, your art needs you.

Home

I hate always having to go back to a house where I really do feel like I don’t fucking belong. I mean, I’m tired of feeling like my worth here will only ever be determined by figures. That I’m worth as much as I can give, I’m worth my grades, I’m worth the salary I’ll earn in the future. I’m tired of having to feel that I’m not valued for who I goddamn am.

I’m tired of being told my passion is useless and that it’s only a hobby. Because it’s honestly saved my life countless times if only because I have something to continue living for. I’m tired of constantly having to understand that I can never explain that to people who would only see that as ridiculous. It’sbecome extremely tiring just trying to get you to see that there are other things in life that I think matter. That all the grades and the money you want isn’t what’s going to make me happy.

I mean, it’s like I don’t even have a right to be who I am. It’s like you don’t value my individuality. You don’t even want me to become independent because you think I won’t be able to handle it, and I’m really tired. I want to make my own mistakes; I want to learn things that I wouldn’t have otherwise because I got to experience them. I want to learn things so that I can grow as a person and be somebody. That’s really it, I guess. I’m tired because you don’t want to teach me anything. You get mad when I make mistakes and don’t bother explaining things to me properly. You’ll only ever repeat things over and over, and honestly, sometimes I just get so sick of everything. I'm tired of you assuming I'm stupid and I don't know anything just because I'm the youngest, or just because I'm younger than you, or just because I dunno, I still look like a fucking kid? I'm tired of you being so condescending as if you understand me perfectly. As if you understand everything so perfectly.

It’s like I can’t even be fucking upset, because if I seem upset you won’t even ask why. You’ll just get mad that I am because I’m supposed to be happy.

That’s what pisses me off the most sometimes. Like I’m SUPPOSED to be happy, and have no other emotion. I’m sorry, but it’s like I get so annoyed that I feel whiny. Like just because you’ve given me all these material things, then that was enough.

But you were never there to teach me what I needed to learn. You tell me you “taught” me math, but really you just shouted at me until I learned to associate numbers with hatred and anger. All my questions? You were upset that I even thought to ask questions. Whenever I was sad? You never really bothered to listen to anything I had to say, you were only ever upset that I even had any problems to begin with.

That’s the worst part, I guess. That I can’t even say anything to other grown-ups or other people who have grown old like you. Because to them it was enough that you provided me with all my basic needs and even spoiled me.

But I didn’t want to be spoiled and pampered and treated like a materialistic, shallow git who only cares about comfort. I wanted experiences, and adventure, and my stories which you were never going to be interested in learning about.

I wanted to live. I wanted to learn how to live.

And I learned all that from so many other sources in my life other than you. It’s why I love my friends more than you. It’s why I love my art more than you. It’s why I love my team more than you.

They loved me for me, and they let me know I didn’t have to equate my worth to numbers. They believed in me, and believed I could be somebody in life. They believed my story would be far more than just several years of existing on this planet.

And that is a home worth more than any amount of money you’ve ever tried to spend on me.

The Algebra Queen.

There are some things which sometimes, I forget happened. And it takes me a split second to realize that things are never going to happen again.

It's 3 days to what would have been your birthday, and once again I realize I'm not going to get to greet you, just like last year. Up to now, if there's one regret I have, it's that I didn't get to say goodbye to you. In fact, when I heard the news that you were gone I realized that the last time I had talk to you was a couple of months back.

I've no idea why I'm writing this as if I'm talking to you. As if you're ever going to read this again. But I guess it's what I feel gives it a bit of justice. Maybe it just feels like I've never written you anything before, aside from that one time I tried writing a bit of the story of you and that idiot I call my Big Brother, but I didn't even get to finish that one.

You were the first person to really show me just how much people can change. And you were also the first person that really understood what it was like to have a past like mine - a childhood filled with just nothing but disappointment coming from people who were supposed to be proud of me. You put up with me rambling on and on about how I hated how much of my childhood was wasted away, and you told me simply that I could take it back anyway. And to this day, I keep that lesson to heart.

You were always so forgiving, that way. And I could never really entirely comprehend it back then. You laughed about me and my old idiot whenever we had ridiculous fights, and always reminded me that the stubborn git wouldn't have given up one bit. Not really. Even on days or weeks or months where it would felt  like he had, he was too damned determined to have ever really given up on anything.

You two were childhood friends, and that much showed. You were just about as stubborn as him. And you also had his vicious honesty, and I guess I just wanted to thank you for that. For never being afraid of telling me what I needed to hear. I've gotten so tired of people just being nice to me for the sake of being polite or because they're too damn afraid of hurting me or causing "trouble."

Thank you, because you showed me that a little trouble only made things interesting.

To this day, you remain one of the few examples of humanity that give me hope that I've had the fortune of meeting. After all, there aren't many people out there who could have replied to me with a bunch of cancer jokes after I asked her if she was alright. There weren't many people who would have started talking about the wonders of memories after she had just recovered from amnesia, and told me that maybe you never really forget things. I remember how you surprised me by laughing about stupid television couples and sharing youtube links to love songs on the night your parents got divorced. And I remember just wondering to myself how someone as strong as you could have ever come to exist in this world.

And there aren't many people out there who can make you feel like no time had passed at all, even if months had gone by without either of us communicating. You were one of the few people that it felt like time paused for our friendship, instead of creating a distance between us. And most of all, you were one of the few people who through your honesty, and never being afraid of being vocal of my stupidity, would always be supportive of me. Who was always on my side, as long as I knew what I was doing. You were one of the few people that knew how to smile because imperfections existed, how to appreciate life as it happened, and how to never give up on people as long as you could show them that all they needed to do was try.

I'm sorry it took me forever and your lifetime to ever realize just how much you've given me, really. And I'm sorry that I couldn't save him, and that I can't seem to forgive myself for not being able to save him. I know that if you were here you would have gotten mad at me for blaming myself, too.

And on a random note, thank you for helping me with algebra when I started out with it.

It's been a year since you've been gone, and I miss you terribly.

Advanced happy-would-have-been-birthday, Algee.

Twenty Fifth 25th.

I suppose, I felt like for the would have been 25th 25th, I wanted to thank you a little. Because I feel this is special, somehow. I don't know. That might just be me being oddly sentimental again. You know how I get. You've always known. So here it is. A thank you post.

Just for the beauty of the world you brought, both wonderful and tragic.

So I guess I'll just be copy-pasting old verses I've written that I feel ring true with everything I've ever felt. Through all of it. My favorite verses from each poem I've ever written. Somehow, I feel like it'll capture and explain all the words I always end up stumbling over. A summary, I suppose. If you ever wanted to know my own side of things, though it'd be pretty strange if you didn't know by now.

Here it is, the story of you and me. As told by my poetry through the past more-than-two-years.

"And I'm not the angel,
that you seem to think I am."

"Because I know that the truth
is you're driving me crazy.
And I've fallen for you too."

"You're insane, and unpredictable.
Insecure and full of pride.
Impulsive and far too rational.
And you're a crazy contradiction.
But I wouldn't have you
any other way."

"It was more about that smile
which you couldn't help but give
whenever we talked
about the next 20 years
of pillow forts and cookie jars
and hunting down the ones
who'd try to take the kids."

"Because you were always more
than just my standards, love.
You picked them up
and threw them at my face.
Looked back with your
defiant stubborness
and kissed away
the doubt.

Because it's [you]
I chose, love.
Not the mirrored ideas
of whatever I might have wanted
[you] to be.
It's [you] and not
whatever the standards
told you what you should have been."

"But darling, you rushed right in
and promised me the [universe]
   until the end of time.

[Made me believe you,
and grasp onto that shard of hope.]

And did, just as you often do.

You proved me wrong."

"That underneath the insanity
   and irrational defiance
      and theoretical niceness,

the jigsaw puzzle of [you]
was never anything short
of beautiful"

"Darling, we were blinding
with the brilliance we had
and no one else
could quite compare
and we were young,
and we were foolish.
And we had dared to [dream.]"

"We scattered the stars
and marked the sky with [us].
And it was a story
that could only ever finish
with one, unexpected,
untimely ending."

"And you were the rush of stardust
that I needed to breathe in my life,
when you rushed right in and taught me
just how to feel [alright] again."

"Darling, you had always been
my best source of hope
that I could change the world."

"And you always knew just how terrified I was,
but fought your way through,
and destroyed every cover I had set up,
even when my thorns tore at you"

"and I could make believe I had something
to say that was utterly beautiful
and that maybe the [universe]
could care,
     and that someone would hear."

"with your effortless ways
     of making me smile again,
     and this time, I could almost bring myself
          to mean it."

"when all you ever wanted to do
was kiss every scar
     and make me make-believe
     that I was [beautiful]"

"you, my dear, were real
and didn't need wings to try to help you
          because you were always brave enough
to try to fly [without them.]"

"We scoured the skies
and found a story for each star.
Breathed life into the flowers
and cracks in buildings we would see.
When we took the world apart
through each other's eyes
and put it back together
until we couldn't see the lines
between your world and mine.

And all you ever wanted to do
was save the people falling off rooftops
while I would kick them off again
to teach them how to fly.
And when the rooftop cleared
we'd sit and talk for hours
until the skies went through every color.

Because dear, you made the world explode
with laughter and sparks and wicked dreams
and life became my favorite artform.
Where we'd laugh about their sanity
and smile when people called us crazy.
Flip off every single one of them
who didn't believe we could change the world."

"We knew characters and plots
and made verses out of nothing.
We talked in symbols and metaphors,
and made stories out of all our days.
Our love was a [literary] happening,
sprinkled with glimmers in its cracks.
We scribbled oaths into the earth,
in days I still believed all that."

"when they took each other hands
and dared to scream their love out loud."

"We streaked through the night skies
and left cracks to fall through
for each and every one of our stars."

"Because I never really got used
to sleeping in the dark.
But I didn't have much choice
when you took back all our stars."

"Waiting for the familiar path
your battle-stained fingers
used to trace along these veins."

"I was grasping for the metaphors
and the little details of you
that had made you something inexplicable"

Merry Christmas, I suppose, Dumdum. No idea if you still check this blog, but meh~

Happy would have been 25th 25th.

Starting Over

Author's Note: I'm tired of writing depressing poetry, or only writing good things when I'm sad.

From now on, I'm going to start writing just for the fun of it. Or well, writing well. And this will take much practice. But I want to do it.

Therefore, I'm going to start by exporting very, very old scraps that I've converted into short poems. They do not have my usual rhythm, whimsy, emotion, or rhyme. But looking back at them, I don't really mind. I like them a little more now. And they're hope that I can develop something a little more for my poetry. Because at the very least, these poems still sound like me.

So here's to starting over.

That is all.

///

never again.

She came home with blood
dripping from her severed finger.

He told her to go
clean up the carpet,

not noticing that her wedding ring
            was gone.

(10/09/11)

lovely fabric, dear.

She danced in her dress that night 

and people told her it suited her. 

She laughed, thinking of all

the hearts she took to make it.

(08/28/11)

fault lines.

We drowned out 

the noise of the world 

with the beat of hearts 

and footsteps 

in the effort to dance 

on fault lines. 

Nobody quite expected 

          the tsunamis.

(08/21/12)

burning strings, again.

People thought liquid fire 

that you could drink 

was useless. 

But it was the best thing 

      to burn 

all these butterflies with.

(05/04/11)

disney.

And so they lived 

happily ever after. 

At least until 

they got married. 

Then they couldn't 

stand each other. 

But fairy-tales 

never show that.

(04/27/11)

curiosity.

And when you said 

you were bulletproof, 

I just had to test it. 

Apparently, you're not. 

Curiosity killed you, 

          I guess. 

Oops.

(05/06/11)

flaw.

He wanted to love her. 

But she had that one flaw. 

Then when he finally got over it, 

he just had to say; 

"I love you, Mole-y. 

     I mean. Molly."

(05/19/11)

cell.

He looked at the petri dish 

           and smiled. 

He had gotten 

what he wanted from her: 

          her cells. 

Here they were, 

neatly dividing themselves. 

Soon he would have 

a "her" that loved him.

(06/22/11)

weight.

You put the weight of your world 

on my shoulders, and took my hand 

so we could run through the earth

and show them how happy you were now.

(10/09/12)

breath.

So you took my breath away 

and trapped it in a bottle, 

for the greatest theft 

          of your life. 

You put your ninja mask on 

and hopped off the window ledge 

to throw the bottle into the sea, 

and told me that maybe 

I'd be lucky enough 

to get it back one day.

(09/28/12)

fudge.

So she stole my heart. 

At the time, she thought 

it was a brownie.

(12/03/11)

A Letter to my Future Husband

Author's Note: I got bored, and after reading my friend's version of this, I got curious to see how mine would turn out.

///

To whoever you are (and whatever stupid pet name I may or may not have chosen to give you),

I have spent the first 13 years of my life with a clear picture of who I wanted you to be. I had a set of standards that I felt that if somebody met, then they would be perfect for who you would be.

Two experiences in my life have proven to me that the best things come unexpectedly. That's the wonder of it.

Therefore, I'm going to begin this by saying that I will honestly have no idea who you will be, or what you'll be like. All I know is that in a world of infinite possibilities, it will be a wondrous thing to have met you amongst the thousands of choices and little moments that all led to this future.

A lot of people might say they want to meet the perfect guy, and that's who they'll fall in love with.

I don't want you to be perfect. That would be boring.

In fact, if there's anything I'd ask of you, it's that you won't be afraid to be flawed for me. I want to know you for who you are, for all the little details and bits that make up you. Because I wouldn't have loved you if you were anything other than who you were. I want to help prove to you that you're a thermodynamic miracle, and that you were an improbability that still sprung up in the world.

Therefore, in advanced, I wanted to thank you. Firstly, I want to thank you for putting up with me. I know how infuriating I can get. I know how I can be strange and not very easy to understand. But I guess the fact that you've chosen me means that to some extent, you do understand. Thank you for appreciating me for me.

I hope that whatever we have will make it. I hope that we both understand that it's not just about this giddy feeling of butterflies we get. Because by now I'm sure you understand that I'm a huge mess between a cynic and a wild, crazy dreamer. So part of me is terrified that one day you're just going to get up, walk away and say quite simply that the magic is over between us. That part of me is also terrified that one day, the one walking out the door might be me. So I hope that we can remember that what we have right now is also a commitment. It's a promise that we've made to each other. And if there's one thing I'm proud of, it's my stubbornness to keep promises. Hopefully you believe in the same thing, as well. But this marriage is obviously about two people. So we'll always need to compromise. And that will need honesty. So no matter how many fights we might get into, I hope we end up fixing them before we go to bed. And that will need the honesty and getting over the fear of hurting each other.

I'm apologizing in advanced for the days I'm going to be off. Even more off than usual, anyway. I really have no explanation for you to make you understand why there are some days when everything just feels so wrong. Maybe it will be those days I'm going to be more isolated and just write. Please understand that I have a passion for writing, and sometimes writing will mean I have to be alone. It doesn't mean I love writing more than you. If I could share that part of my world with you, I would. But I have no idea how. And I'm sorry for that. I'm also apologizing for the times you may find yourself in my writing. Even if it won't always be blatant: maybe you'll find one of our moments recreated in a story, or a character that salutes everyone goodbye the way you do. Sometimes, I won't be able to help it. You have, after all, become a huge part of my world. And I can't help it if I subconsciously end up proclaiming how wonderful those quirks of you are to all my readers.

So here's to hoping the best for the rest of our lives together. I look forward to all the adventures we're going to share: and please note that as a writer and a reader, I've come to understand that even the smallest moments can be adventures if you look at it right. This means that you don't have to feel pressured to always emblazon the times we spend together: I'm not picky when it comes to where we are while we're on a date, or what we're doing. 

Even if we just lie in bed all day and talk about nonsensical things and play with each other's hair, I wouldn't mind. It's you, specifically, that I've chosen. Not the places you took me out on dates. 

Although, a small hint, but I'm sure you know this by now from the time before we got married: I love toy stores and book stores, and maybe making random commentary on things while we're in them.

That doesn't mean I don't want to try new things though. If you ever get tickets to an awesome play, or to a new country, I would love to go with you. I guess all I really want is to be able to say I've made memories with you.

I'm sure I love you. And I'm sorry for the times I'm not exactly physically affectionate. I try my best to show it in whatever way I can. But I'm not cheesy or sweet. At least, not in the conventional way. I hope you understand that.

Also, I'm sorry for always taking your cookies.

Love,

Me(or whatever stupid pet name you may or may not have chosen to give me)

The Last

Author's Note: Maybe, probably, most likely the last.

21 poems all in all.

Goodbye, Dumdum.
///

I wanted to write you an eternal congregation
of embedded words and woven intricacies
that could come close to the poetry
that was so unapologetically you;
perhaps to convince myself
that I couldn't bleed out all over the words
until not a single of them was true.

I was grasping for the metaphors
and the little details of you
that had made you something inexplicable;
but lost them in the scrawl of ink
and the stains on crumpled paper
so I could bleed out all the poison
and formaldehyde your heart
had pumped into my system;
hoping eventually the trace you left
all over my veins
     would be forgotten.

And the stemmed flow of words
and the ink that won't run fast enough
to catch up with these echoes
only serves to remind me
that all those worlds are gone,
and their lights are flickering out,
dimming our universe down one by one.

So my dear, the door at the end
of the world is waiting
for you to go through
Until the keeper locks it up for good.
With the welded key as a reminder
that our adventures didn't last forever.
Our stars, our lightning, and our magic is gone
and it's time for us to take a bow:
     goodbye, my dear;
          it's all over now.

Lightning

Author's Notes: The most recent poem I've written that I'm exporting over here. There are a lot more I decided not to transfer, they're over at my deviantart gallery.

This was written last August 22.

///

And you, my dear, were lightning personified.
You burst through the night skies
and outshone all the stars.
And there wasn't a scream in the world
that could outmatch your thunder.
We destroyed the earth we trod on
as we slowdanced across faultlines
and raced through raging raindrops.

We couldn't bear to let go
and dug our nails to form crescents
across each other's palms
as we shot through the gates of hell
and declared we had bulletproof hearts.
And darling, the demons took that call
and were drawn in by our music.
We thumped out drumbeats
and strung heartstrings with our sparks
and left behind quite a ruin
for the gods to clean up after us.

My dear, our wings were on borrowed time
and it wasn't long before
they crumbled into ashes
while we were in mid-flight.
Sunsets shattered across the universe
and hourglass sand started up a storm
as we tried to scramble for a cloud
that we could grasp while falling
but the heavens didn't want
to let either of us in anymore.

And so here's the world
we left behind in our pride.
We told ourselves we could take it
and maybe change it for the better
but we were blinded by our madness
and told ourselves it was our brilliance.
We streaked through the night skies
and left cracks to fall through
for each and every one of our stars.

We'll try and say it was the wars
that tore our very beings apart
and left the world's corners
without the stains of our colors.
But darling, what hurts most is the truth-
this was no one's fault but ours.

Story

Author's Notes: Written last July 19.

///

We knew characters and plots
and made verses out of nothing.
We talked in symbols and metaphors,
and made stories out of all our days.
Our love was a [literary] happening,
sprinkled with glimmers in its cracks.
We scribbled oaths into the earth,
in days I still believed all that.

We were heroes in our own right,
with the nerve to try and prove
that the rest of the world was wrong.
When we showed all the readers of our story
that we would end it in the stars.
It's just a shame that you and I both
couldn't appreciate what [we] are.

So take our pen and count the words,
embedded with all we didn't do.
When our tragedies collided
and didn't agree with all our smiles.
Chisel out the memories in the pouring rain,
when our intricacies were meshed
in the corners of our world.
And unravel the story
of when I was once your girl.