Missing Close Encounters

Blood moves slowly
Building red cloth along
Even with cuts and scars
It continues to flow with ease

Heart pumps more
Filling each vein alive
Trying to save from breaking
Functions merely for living not feeling

It had lived
All these times, alone
Nothing comes close to it
It knows no other beating heart

Each pump hurts
Veins expand too big
Blood longing for something different
Someone, if possible, someone to share

Emotions aren’t much
Other than labels inside
Brain knows too well, but
Heart is blinded, covered from it

Once it felt
New rush passes through
Veins, blood, heart all together
Until it had that close encounter

The hand moved
It sent a message
A lasting sensation that’s missing
For more than a decade now

When will it come back
Will it also remember me?
Or it will be different
Far away, forgotten

Chasing the Writing Bug

There are numerous opportunities for me to start bringing life to the unimaginable stories out of my head. But most of the time I slack off instead. Then getting annoyed at the end because of wasted hours.


Writing has always been one of my toughest frustrations (next to singing). I’m aware of how random I could be throughout the day, so I’ve got to make use of my productive hours well. However, the actual writing tends to come rarely these days. 😥 This is due to my lack of a fixed writing habit. I try to be consistent with my schedule, but distractions greet me which I embrace so openly.

Bothersome distractions

Online sites are the worst!

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Getting Stuck and Moving On

There are some days when I feel really stuck in life, and that it’s difficult to ever get back on my feet. Challenges and worries overpower hope and motivation. Trying so hard to return to my most productive state is a feat that is closer to impossible. This is me when negativity takes over…

However, I have faith that there’s a purpose for everything. My current situation will probably make sense in another day, week, or even a year. Those moments are the most surprising ones which freely gives off my unwavering smile. A satisfaction of getting through the storm and moving forward. How I wish I could see myself at that moment again. I am still waiting. Pinching, punching, forcing myself to continue moving forward. At times, I look back. Not for regret but for inspiration. Changes that happened throughout the years before I came to my current position. Those make me grateful for everything.

Now, I have to continue. Press every button and find the green one. Gently guide my fingers and toes. Small steps. Little by little.

Breaking Free of My Writing Paralysis

20150518_picI haven’t written much for weeks. July is almost done, but I’m still floating across the flight of my mind. This is the phase I consider as my writing paralysis. A state of writing depression when nothing seems to “inspire” me to pick up my pen and start writing. Maybe it’s the weather or my personal predicaments right now, or worst my laziness.

I hate the days when I feel too lazy to write. Instead of working on a poem or a story, I would simply grab a book to kill the time. Even though I have dozens of reminders (notes) about different storylines that I want to work on, I still procrastinate. Escaping the responsibility of writing, and simply hoping for other distractions/chores/excuses to come by. This habit got me paralyzed for so long, that I couldn’t even finish writing a two stanza poem. 😥

However, over the weekend, I was able to slowly go back on track with writing assignments and free writing in front the TV set. This new habit gradually made me grew familiar with the distractions around and work my way out of those.

For now, I am still writing Exploring Limbo. Luckily, I’m able to work until the second part of the collection. 😀

Then for the meantime, I’m continuously focusing my writing in my hub. There are multiple informative articles that I’ve done which helped in my steps to writing again. Hope these will be a good start to write more.

Salvation from Boredom

It’s quite fascinating how words can move people to tears or jump for joy at some instances. There are even times that those words are used to depict life, but people still see it with twinkling eyes. It seems as if it is the first time they see it.

I think it is a way to preserve life in a way that humans are capable of. People use words that are powerful, moving, inspiring, or intriguing which are woven together for expression. The force they have can show emotions that are yet to be expressed or touches the heart like no other feathery tool has. Words can show more than objects at times because they are means of the past, the present, and the future.

I feel privileged to hear those words spoken, read those letters dance along the pages (or the screen), and experience different forms of adventure. There is still a great salvation that comes to people. There is a place for the imagination and the play of letters. Skill may be needed to proceed, but this is a challenge worth taking because there are stories yet to be told. Voices that are not given a chance. People willing to listen. This is the time for individuals to get up and get going.


A hundred and a half of pages a day
Eats a lot of time a man could take
But through this, his life continues to break
Waiting for the book that would repay
A man’s stolen heart from the deep lake

Poetry is the collection of the best words the man could keep
Reaching as far or as deep as any hand would seek
Through the one thousand four hundred and forty minutes at the peak
Dreaming and scratching, unimportant passengers come to leap

Words come and go, through the mind and mouth of younger souls
Searching for the exit sign, trying their best to crawl
Broken nails and calloused flesh, don’t bother a bit on each fall
The end is better resting on the hope of all weeping call

Once he thought that he could really be
Then reality knocks and breaks all of him
Cursing, lying, telling the truth for all to see
No one’s going to survive the fate to flee

This is the poetry of illusion-filled dream
Hopping as joyously as anyone would ever be


Stones and pebbles covered the floor
A few green grass growing in between
There’s a faint smell flowing
Smoky, muddy, sweet, but hard

“Walk!” a low voice shouts behind
Someone bumps a small girl on the right
My feet shake and lose balance
Hit my knee to one rough rock

More heavy steps marching forward
No one gave a second to help
My knee is oozing with red
The sting from the smooth cut across

I hate blood, and its rusty taste
But every now and then shades entices me
Light, pinkish, crimson red all over
In the midst of the full moon bloom

Only the gray and icy ground sees
The wind and the leaves listen
With the dark orange glare from the sun
Our stories are recorded on the pavement

3 Ways I Procrastinate Before Writing

Exemplary work needs time, passion, and a lot of handwork. Unless a person’s naturally brilliant that every idea that comes out of his/her mind would sound like a whistling lavenders to an abandoned lang. Most of the time when I want to start writing, I suddenly get the urge of making a long to-do list, find other things to do, wait. Some seem reasonable, others menial and trivial at all.

I never really thought that I just made those to procrastinate on my writing.

1. Make really long TO-DO LIST

Priority: Writing


I do the others first.

There’s like a blast of tasks to finish. I force myself to do the easier ones first. I do know in “theory” that I should work on the bigger load first because I can allot more time to it. Then I move to the easier, smaller tasks after.

Well, I do the opposite. So, my writing gets postpone until the last minute. Sometimes even put on hold and be a to-do priority number one (again!) the next day, and the next. This aggravates to totally not writing anything.

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