2017 flew away like
a feather
discarded in the wind
I am here now,
in a platform
foreign to me;
and tomorrow I will reach
somewhere
stranger than before.
and as these days
slowly fall down like petals
from my stupid
love me or not games;
I can see the stipples
inside my rose
in the shape of 2018.
how did I reach here?
do I have resolutions?
unlike before,
in my twenty-something years;
I do have resolutions,
and I wonder if I can keep up with it.
when I turn twenty-again-something in new year month;
I want to keep up with a new slate-
of discarded regrets,
renewed strength,
misplaced vowels,
sharpened nouns,
polished new words,
refined verses,
erased past,
shredded black clouds,
broken guilt,
happy sonnets.
I want to keep up with
something refreshing, something meaningful
I want to write a new story
one which doesn't end nor paint in tragedy,
one which doesn't know the metaphor of depression,
one which is free of loneliness,
one which is free of regrets,
one which is free of illness,
one which is filled with something I have never tasted before
I want to start this year
with a poetry so pristine
that I can almost see myself
and not the pretense
I want to start this year
with a suicide letter to the last year;
filled with-
redundant gayness,
important promises,
charitable memories,
sweet laughter;
only happiness.
and this year
I will try to be something
but more importantly
I wish I can be something...
different.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoesiaA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
