Thoughts of a Violinist Giraffe

So I've heard that the difference between poison and medicine is in the dose.      I've also heard that food should be our medicine, the front lines against disease.    I've also  heard                          (bear with me) that the quickest way to a man's heart           is through his belly. Let's put aside the obvious      problems glaring at us            with glowing,              unsettling eyes - of the literal relationship of constant ingestion of meaty, fatty proteins and heart disease - and let's just sit back, relax: take this     on a more abstract level. Her words & actions        were saccharine: thick dollops of gelato filling a generously large bowl. It took more than a few years to finish, but I got throu...

I have no words for feeling like I've been abandoned for the fifth or sixth or seventh time already. I can't stand thinking about it, conflicted on whether I should head the opposite way from where I - I , not we - have progressed or keep going, pretending I haven't realized already that you care more for him. Even if I could pretend I haven't seen or even noticed it, my eagerness will die out without my even trying. All I feel is dying and I can't stop it from eventually laying there on cold, hard stone. Tears are fought against, but like Napoleon at Waterloo, I lose to the feeling that I've never been the one preferred for the eight or ninth or tenth time already. I am sick and tired of feeling as though nothing I am is worth the light of day. I feel stupid and insane for ever thinking even the least bit of effort could change things. Not even my words feel the same. I have no words. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ An old poem from way back in...

Maybe it's time I say farewell; maybe the time, time, time, time, the time has closed upon us: me, the cause of too much fuss made to make this worthwhile, the fires of affection burned to ash. We were through before the first signs of mutual adoration had sprouted. Quite possibly, my own words have outed me from any possibility of riding out this train together. I've taken different trains of thought these days, it'd be odd to stay on          the same old forever. We have long since taken             different planes, walked separate waysides that are lesser tread by varied faces. Had we found proper letters and symbols, words and sentences to say                                             what we mean, would we still choose opposite                   ...

Preferences have a way of being adopted early enough                           to seem like family. In second grade, during a spelling bee contest, it came down to two      individuals in the classroom: me,                because obviously I'd be awesome at spelling things, and this lovely Russian American girl with brunette hair, a disarming smile, smooth voice, and sharp wit that quite easily spelled the word "equestrian". At that age, I was aware of a couple things: one, how baffled I was that I couldn't spell the word "equestrian", and two, how Alex, let's call her Alex, was absolutely mesmerizing for the rest of the school year. It would have been for the rest of my young life but unfortunately,                                     ...

Enjoy a rendition of one my poems! (Also, here's to the New Year! Have a great one, ladies and gents!)

Here's a video of me performing one of my recent poems! Hope you enjoy! Cheers!

The street is dipped in a stream of fading, weary, warm daylight. Memories of autumn cloud my thoughts as I stare at bright green, summer leaves covering sparse pockets of the Manila alleyway. Faux pine cones dot the railings of the building, unnaturally white,           metallic, and cold. It is nothing like the snow I know from when I was young.                   Yet all I know is gone, a near-decade of moments collected in what should be home. A kaleidoscope of daydreams                    roll, a setting of bare branches and ankle-deep winter. Deep breaths of sharp cold air momentarily keep off the shiver. Chicago winds bite into my cheeks,            squinting just to see past the flurries. I prepare to yell into the stark blue, crystalline wintry sky - The roar of obnoxious Manila traffic      ...