Luka I Erei

Singapore

Hi, I'm Luka!

Avid reader, writer,
Just an all round big fan of words

All feedback is welcome!

Published Work

Science Fiction Competition 2021

Orbs of Dust and Dirt

    "This is underwhelming," I muttered, gazing at that pale yellowish-brown ball of what was probably some carbon-based dirt trudging along its banal orbit around another typical star. Another disappointment. And so perfectly in the star's habitable zone. What a waste. Taylor had had high hopes for this one.

    "Well?" I turned towards Taylor. "Ready to get in that stupid space suit and collect some stupid samples?"

    Taylor shot me a dirty look. "Just go and dress up. We need to be presentable for the aliens, remember?"

    "Sure. As if anything lives down there," I muttered, but grinned as I pushed against the window, floating over to the suits Taylor had set so neatly in the closet.

    "You never know, maybe they're still stuck in their caves. You might get along quite well with them." Taylor laughed. That guy was insufferable. So maybe I'd rather stay cooped up in this little spaceship than...

If You Don't Want to See Me Cry

I forgave you in an instant
even though the pain is still incessant.
You said you're sorry and I know
you mean it.
And I forgive you,
but I can't forget it.

I know you always want to help,
make sure I'm safe, 
remind me to sleep.
But I try and try and cannot sleep,
plagued by thoughts of what you
did to me.

And I forgive you but
I can't forget it,
no apology can alleviate it.
I know you hate to see me cry,
but what's done is done,
you can't undo it.

So if you don't want to see me cry,
please just turn your back or close your eyes.
 

The Warmth of You

Hold me oh so tight and keep my warm in this cold winter wind. Hold my frigid fingers pressed close into my chest and envelope my body in yours and let your heart beat so regularly into my back and let me feel your life so steady and so constant in mine and let me feel your breath on my neck. Hold me among the snow so pure and white as we watch stars fall through the sky and keep me warm, keep me warm with your life.

What Hasn't Killed Me

They say what doesn't kill you makes you
stronger. They call me a survivor,
a champion, so strong and steel willed
and they lie.

They lie when they say I have grown,
I have learnt from my pain, for all I've grown is
Weary, and all I've learnt is suffering.

What hasn't killed me has left me in
Crutches, broken, an ugly mess covered
With a feeble mask of makeup and fake
Smiles to cover up my scars which
Hurt so bad and are anything but
Beautiful.

The Clock

The clock ticks so annoyingly loud,
This eerie regular snapping of hands
Ripped from their old position and
Forced into a new moment in time.

I wonder what its like to be a gear
In this machine, jerked away from
Comfort just a second after settling
In, settling down.

The plastic clock hanging on my wall
Ticks, terrifyingly, like gongs
Of a dilapidated grandfather clock in an
Abandoned house, wood rotten after so much
Time.

Each tick slams at my ears, a
Violent reminder, threatening,
Mocking my senses, so powerless
Against this agent of the never stopping
Time.

And I can only listen to its
Mechanical laughter, and watch its
Hands so lazily moving to steal
Mine.

Jealous

I'm jealous of a million things
The sky, the trees, the birds that sing.
We stare at million different things,
And wonder at their effortless beauty.

I'm jealous of a million things
That don't get judged and hated
By people oh so critical of other
People, but who love the stars in the
Sky, just for existing.

I'm jealous of a million things
That can be flawed and imperfect
But at least they aren't human.

I'm jealous of a million things,
I wish somebody would stop judging
And scrutinising both my glaring
And my not so obvious flaws,
And just see me, and just love me,
For just existing.

Do You Love Me?

I don't know you, 
Though I say I do.
I say I know your flaws and faults
And your odd little turn of phrase,
Stare straight into your eyes, and say
I love you,
And yet through those hazel orbs I don't
See a soul.

I never know you,
Though I wish had.
I thought I knew your likes and hates
And cares and odd little idiosyncrasies,
I thought I knew your cares loves.
I knew, I thought,
You loved me.

And maybe you do,
And maybe you don't,
But what's done is done 
And I guess I'll never know.

If the World Ends Tomorrow

If the world ends tomorrow, I want to sit by the window and watch in silence and peace, to watch the skies fall, watch the seas burn, watch the asteroids burst through the fluffy white clouds leaving trails in white puffs streaking behind. If the world ends tomorrow, I want it to be scenic, beautiful, a movie scene I will watch over a mug of hot chocolate, wrapped in a blanket, without a care in the ending world. I want to sit by the window with nowhere else I rather be and nothing I else I rather do and just watch and be happy. If the world ends tomorrow, I want to sit by the window and watch in tranquillity and calm and be so happy just watching the end of the world, over a nice mug of hot chocolate, wrapped in a blanket, wrapped in you, wrapped in my world. 

On Old Rickety Swings

What secrets do old rickety swings hold
Tied up to frail old tree branches with ropes
Frayed from rain and wear and tear
And the swinging of children without a care?

What stories do old rickety swings hold
Between their aged sheepskin coats
Of fields from days past, and children who laugh
And childhoods of playing in luscious green grass?

What memories do old rickety swings hold
For me to bottle in old glass jars, covers riddled with tiny holes
Just like I did with the fireflies I saved on this very field?
What memories can I glean from this old rickety swing
Of times long gone, of childhoods lost,
Of the minds and hearts of innocence past?

Dramatic

Maybe I'm being dramatic.
What more would you expect from a poet?

Maybe I'm overreacting.
Maybe you're right. 

Maybe I should have slammed your door
Just ever so slightly quieter so that
It wouldn't have woken that poor
Dog next door that wasn't the dog that
Needed a shock, a wake up bucket of
Cold water to the face.

Maybe I'm being dramatic.
Maybe I shouldn't have compared you to a dog.

I actually like dogs.

Guilt

The mirrored monster mocks me—
The monster in this world.
This well-deserved isolation
Can’t save me from my shadow,
Home of all the pain I dealt.
Guilt accepts no explanation,
No excuse, no pathetic beg for pardon.
No bleach poured through this evil mouth,
And worthless throat,
And hateful body,
Could ever hope to cleanse me
Of this damned heinous spot
Of what I did to who I loved
Of trust I’ve broken, of pain I’ve dealt.

My mirrored monster mocks me
And tears my heart apart.

Lenses and Filters

You're so perfect
You remind me, every day,
Even as you try ever so hard to deny it,
That I will never be enough.

No More Poems About Love

    I used to lay awake and wonder and write poem after poem all so cliched with overused tropes in hopes of some stroke of inspiration, a moment of clarity, a lightning strike illuminating the sky as I asked, over and over, what is love?

    I used to lay awake and wonder and write poem after poem all so cliched with overused tropes in hopes of some stroke of inspiration, a moment of clarity, a lightning strike illuminating the sky as I asked, over and over, what it was I saw in you and why when my eyes locked on yours I would freeze, and maybe blush as you whisper my name, what it was I felt, lying in your arms that was so warm, more than your bodily heat, so soft, more than your smooth skin, and felt so safe, more than your uncharacteristic glare at whoever so dared to insult me. And I lay awake and pondered why life...

No More Poems About Love

    I used to lay awake and wonder and write poem after poem all so cliched with overused tropes in hopes of some stroke of inspiration, a moment of clarity, a lightning strike illuminating the sky as I asked, over and over, what is love?

    I used to lay awake and wonder and write poem after poem all so cliched with overused tropes in hopes of some stroke of inspiration, a moment of clarity, a lightning strike illuminating the sky as I asked, over and over, what it was I saw in you and why when my eyes locked on yours I would freeze, and maybe blush as you whisper my name, what it was I felt, lying in your arms that was so warm, more than your bodily heat, so soft, more than your smooth skin, and felt so safe, more than your uncharacteristic glare at whoever so dared to insult me. And I lay awake and pondered why life...

Don't Talk to Me About the Stars

Don't talk to me about the sun and the moon and the stars in the inky black night sky. Don't talk to me of majestic nebulae and constellations, galaxies and exotic planets, and go on and on about their beauty and mesmerising colours. Don't tell me to reach for the stars, shoot for the moon and fly high above the world, and leave my problems as tiny specks down below. Don't build up my hopes and my dreams to break through the brick limit of the clouds and the bright blue sky that so few ever do.

Just bring me to the quiet empty fields at night where the fireflies fly and the tuberose blooms and show me the beauty all around me, show me the beauty of living stars that land on my finger, the beauty down here within reach. And take my hand, and show me the beauty of you, and show me the beauty of me.

Butterfly Effect

Perhaps, if millions of years ago, a butterfly had 
Flapped its golden wings just a tad bit harder,
Perhaps the universe would be just so slightly
    Different.

Perhaps I would finally be somebody I actually 
    Wanted to be.

Our Photograph

I stare at the little laminated photograph sat by the stone. It's us. Well, not quite. It was us. Now it's a gateway to this one point in the past where we smiled side by side and probably played dumb word games when others our age were playing phone games. It's a gateway to a new set of moon and of stars and of green grass so luscious — is it still this colour? I wouldn't know but from general trends of grass turning brown and dry and brittle like if I just tapped it with my foot it would fall into dust, from this depressing trend, a pathetic fallacy, I don't believe the grass could still be so green as that day we pushed each other around and rolled over each other in that grass just so slightly wet with dew under the moon and the stars which I've never seen shine quite as bright through the fog and...

Ponder

At night I close my eyes and ponder
All the things that make me wonder
Like why the stars don't shine at night
And why the smog has filled my life.

At night I lie awake and ponder
What I could find if I just wandered
Through dark recesses of my mind
What sweet fun memories I might find.

At night I go outside and ponder
As I watch my fire flicker
And stare up at the black night sky
And offer my own small white starlight.

Validity

I don't cry, why?
These storm clouds gather and
Grow, larger and darker and
Colder, just ready to unleash
Hurricanes and thunderstorms
And wash away my pain.
But I don't cry.

Why?
Emotions poured into my bottle of a
Heart and froze, stuck, trapped in
Myself, refusing to leave and grant me
Reprieve, and so
I don't cry.

My emotions are real, but
I don't cry. 
My emotions are real, I 
Feel them, I know them.
I swear, they're real,
I wouldn't lie.
And yet I never cry.

Or am I a fraud, who
Spilled some milk and screams
For attention, for help, and fakes
And acts, and fools myself,
But can't fool these non-existent tears,
The reason why I cannot cry.

Petty

The sunset is pretty.
Hues of yellow, orange, red,
Streaked across the sky,
This disc of white just peeking
Out over the horizon.

The sunset is pretty.
Perhaps it could be beautiful
If the gradients were just that
Much more sophisticated,
If it could fade into inky black
And show me an intruding dome of
Stars.

Perhaps I'm being petty.
Perhaps I ask too much of
Nature to show me all its
Secrets and more, to demand
Perfection, for beauty, while
I rest in my scars and my flaws.

Perhaps I don't need beauty.
Perhaps I don't deserve the stars.
Perhaps all I get are pretty sunsets,
A not-quite-perfect world, for a petty,
Far-from-perfect boy.

My Little Flame

My little flame flickers, yellow light
Reflected off the gleaming, just
Melted wax.

It jumps and it dances, to the
Rhythm of the breeze of the night,
It's pulsing yellow halo just 
Off beat from the quiet 
Singing of hymns.

My little flame stands restless,
Balancing, wobbling upon its wick,
Planted deep within pure white 
Wax melting in my cold glass cup in my
Cold glass hands.

My little fragile hands tremble in the 
Cold dark night illuminated by this
Sea of candles and friends and
Strangers surrounding this
Smiling portrait adorned with white
Lilies and the handmade signs of
Love and remembrance of a
Life too short.

Imagine Knowing

Imagine seeing the world in someone's eyes and holding the universe in his hands, and loving it, and loving him. Imagine having all everything so perfect, the stars at the tip of your fingers wrapped around his hand. Imagine the pain when your universe turns all shades of black and red and dirty green and you flee, you know this world is dying, and you flee, and he says that he's so sorry and you flee, but you see the hints of hues of blue and his starlight struggling to burn through and you don't know how strong this light can be that died in a moment but seems to be trying oh so hard to return and you don't know if the wilted trees and brown water can grow flowers once more and become crystal clear and if the land once razed can now be more fertile than ever or inhospitable to life. And imagine you can forgive but...

Love's Prelude

I can't say that I love you,
But I know one day I want to.
I don't yet really know you,
Beyond small talk and a joke or two.

A cheeky glance,
Our endless dance
Of wits, calculated words
Fall apart into free, thoughtless
Laughter over lunch.

I can't say that I love you,
Though perhaps in a month or two,
We'd be pass this charming game of ours
And enter into fields of stars
And hearts
And maybe love will bloom.

The Pianist

He caresses the keys,
Playing nocturnes, sonatas,
Typing stories, lives,
Epics and tragedies.

His fingers glide across keys,
Each one unlocking secrets and
Mysteries of music,
Note divulging the deepest
Answers to the universe.

Music engulfs him,
Harmonies of vibrations in the air all around,
Through my ears, through my bones,
I watch as he sways in sync with the
Heartbeat of the half-lit stage.

Light

Take my hand,
Turn from the dark,
Look into the light,

And I take your hand and I do.

I look into the light,
Step into my life,
And all I can see is
You.

Bottle A Star

What if we were to bottle a star?
What if we could capture it's power
It's glory, it's magnificent, radiating
Heat and intensity?

What if, just me and you,
We could bottle this spark,
This light between us,
And admire this glass jar of
life?

And forever treasure this glass jar of
Us.

Bottle A Star

What if we were to bottle a star?
What if we could capture it's power
It's glory, it's magnificent, radiating
Heat and intensity?

What if, just me and you,
We could bottle this spark,
This light between us,
And admirer this glass jar of
life?

And forever treasure this glass jar of
Us.

Rain

Tears fall from the sky as rain
And kills all the fun and ruins the mood.

Tears fall from the sky as rain
And people sing songs, rain, rain please go away.

Tears fall from the sky as rain
And soaks the playground and darkens the day
And soaks up the heat and washes dark dirt away
And waters the fields and the flowers that bloom
And leaves puddles to play in, or kiss in the rain.

I wish I could cry and drop tears just like rain
And maybe this rain could wash off all my pain.
My clouds are so heavy and dark and threatening
And weigh down my mind with emotions all churning.

Tears fall from my eyes just like rain
Please take all my sadness and wash off my pain.

Rain

Tears fall from the sky as rain
And kills all the fun and ruins the mood.

Tears fall from the sky as rain
And people sing songs, rain rain go away.

Tears fall from the sky as rain
And soaks the playground and darkens the day
And soaks up the heat and washes dark dirt away
And waters the fields and the flowers that bloom
And leaves puddles to play in, or kiss in the rain.

I wish I could cry and drop tears just like rain
And maybe this rain could wash off all my pain.
My clouds are so heavy and dark and threatening
And weigh down my mind with emotions all churning.

Tears fall from my eyes just like rain
Please take all my sadness and wash off my pain.

Sympathy

They look down on me in the pit,
Staring, pacing around the brim
Of dirt, the portal into endless
Darkness and me.

They sit at the precipice,
Gazing with sympathy down at 
My plight, the occasional gasp of
Horror, as another rat squeaks and
Scutters over me.

They throw down a rope,
And shout for me to take it, so
Blind to the chains blot out by
Inky darkness in their strained vision of
The pit and me.

I sit alone, wincing at
Snakes and rats so black that
Seize me and shackle me and
Slither over raw skin freshly torn,
Gnawed out and dripping red
Blood.

I sit alone, with demons and dark,
Alone in this pit, sits useless, good natured
Sympathy and me.

I Love You But...

I love you, but I hate
The way you act so different
In private and outside and
Scowl when your friends make jokes
About you and me.

I love you, and you love me
And comfort me when I'm so down
And hold me tight and stroke my back
And sing soft songs into the night.
In the safety of you room.

I love you, but I hate
How much you fear those eyes and ears
That might see and hear our love
And hide us away, like skeletons
In the closet.

I love you, but I hate
How you push me away
When we're out in public
Like, somehow, you're ashamed,
Ashamed of me.

And I love, you, but I hate
How I fear all this too.

I Love You But...

I love you, but I hate
The way you act so different
In private and outside and
Scowl when your friends make jokes
About you and me.

I love you, and you love me
And comfort me when I'm so down
And hold me tight and stroke my back
And sing soft songs into the night.
In the safety of you room.

I love you, but I hate
How much you fear those eyes and ears
That might see and hear our love
And hide us away, like skeletons
In the closet.

I love you, but I hate
How you push me away
When we're out in public
Like, somehow, you're ashamed,
Ashamed of me.

Remember

Do you remember? Do you remember when we sat side by side and did homework in silence, for all but two minutes, before breaking into uncontrollable laughter from something you said two minutes ago? Do you remember playing in the field, talking and laughing and trying to trip each other, rolling around in grass so green until teachers had to tell us to play nice, but we were playing so nice and free like nothing was on our minds? Do you remember staring up at the stars and the huge glowing plate of silver moon in the dark night sky lit up with dots of light so silently or were we talking? I can't quite remember. All I remember was I was there with you. Do you remember we hugged so awkwardly on the last day of school, I never liked hugs much, but within your bony ribs and thin, wiry arms, I felt all the warmth in the world,...

Mask

I wear a mask like a robber,
Sneaking into a house at night,
Hiding my face, hiding myself
From the cold harsh judgements
Of society.

I wear a mask like a doctor,
Performing open heart surgery,
Protecting those I try to help
From myself, from the demons
Inside me.

I wear a mask all the time,
This mask that hides my identity
This mask that hides my demons
This mask that more than hides myself,
That holds me together, this thin piece of fabric
Stretched over my cracks and fissures that if I took off
Would leave me naked and falling apart into fragments all laid bare,
Myself all inside out.

Sunflower

If only I could be a sunflower,
And represent joy, light and sun,
The colour yellow, children playing
In fields, and laughter, high and free.

If only I could be a sunflower,
The subject of artists and images,
Basking in the perfect beams of sun,
Picturesque backgrounds of family picnics.

If only I could be a sunflower,
And symbolise happiness and love,
And have people look at my colours
And smile, and I would be happy
Just basking in sun.

Empty Eyes

They say your eyes are the windows to your soul. Could that be why, when our faces are so close, and my eyes are locked on yours, in your eyes, all I see is me, and all you see is you? Or could it be that our eyes are just blank mirrors, and would reflect whatever was there, and there was no meaning in that look in your eye, that flutter of your eyelids, the intensity of your gaze that said you loved me, or that said nothing at all and I was just a hopeless romantic and chose to ignore the breeze, the dark, everything, just to pretend, for a moment, that there was something.

Roots

Behind each face, each life, is a story
An epic, a tragedy, a hero's journey,
Spanning years, generations, 
Centuries through the past,
Snaking lines through the universe
Up to the very beginning of time.

Behind my face, my life, is a story
These roots dug deep into the fabric of time.
Each ancestor leaving an imprint, 
On their lives and those around them,
On their children's lives and finally mine.

A tree needs its roots, just like
I need my past, these times and
These people, immortalised or forgotten,
Keep me from breaking and wilting to death.

But just like a tree is more than its roots,
I know that I am more than some history.
No roots or nice flowers can keep me alive,
If I am not strong enough to grow into the light.

Canvas

A canvas.
Empty, pure, white.
Awaiting an artist to impose
Colours, beauty, light and life.

A canvas.
Yellow, orange, white.
Can't choose its artist,
Or control the path of its life.
And colours, black, blue, red, can
Blot out this thin coat of background light.

And although you might paint over
This dark, dull, bitter sight,
Dark colours are hard to so completely hide
But though you might wish for a cheery painting
Of children laughing in yellow and orange and white,
Perhaps we can settle with a compromise
Of a black, blue, yellow, a beautiful
Starry night.

The Insiders

The outsiders stare and watch and judge,
A cacophony of faces, of voices, of thoughts.
Their gaze crawls all over my skin and prods
And scrutinises my most obvious flaws.

I retreat to myself, and curl up inside,
In this one safe place where no outsiders lie.
But in here alone, I am not alone
For in each dark corner the insiders hide.

The insiders scream and they shout and they claw
At my heart, at my mind, and tell me not to fight.
These insiders tear me down from inside, 
No fortress can stop me from stealing my own light.

The outsiders come and I run and I hide,
But at least with outsiders I can run and can hide.
But run oh so far, and hide as I might,
I'll never be safe from the demons inside.

Eight Years Old

Eight years old is
The age to say no
To fruits and vegetables
And have to eat it anyway

Eight years old is
Not to want to study
But to be forced
To study anyway

Eight years old
Is not, should not, be
The age to say no,
Don't touch me,
And be touched anyway,
To say no, I said no,
And be ignored,
To cry for help, and not
For lack of a toy or my favourite food,
To cry,
And be ignored,
And not know quite what happened
Even after the second, the third, the fourth time,
And the endless others in my nightmares,
Except I never want it to happen again.

Hope

You probably think I'm a little bit crazy, when I shut my ears tight and curl into a ball. You probably think there's something wrong with me, when I mutter incoherently between each shallow rapid useless breath. You probably think I'm mental, hiding my face and crying without tears, when I gaze longingly at the dark inky blackness out the window and you wrap your arms around me muttering comforting pleading words which I can hardly hear. And maybe you would be right. 

But I don't know what you think when my head is pressed against your chest and you think I don't notice you wiping tears from your eyes or your chest rising and falling unevenly and I want to comfort you but I don't know how, and just whisper apologies you would never accept but I hope, I hope to the moon and the stars, I hope that you're okay, and I hope that you hope too.

Extraordinary in the Ordinary

My Coin

There are universes in my coin
Each flip slices worlds in two,
Possibilities upon possibilities
My fate, and that of so many others,
Intertwined with the face of my coin.
So much is held in this sliver of copper
Worth just a dollar to the untrained eye.
But were you to look, and think for a while,
You'd see universes, gods, fates and lives.

Extraordinary in the Ordinary

My Coin

There are universes in my coin
Each flip slices worlds in two,
Possibilities upon possibilities
My fate, and that of so many others,
Intertwined with the face of my coin.
So much is held in this sliver of copper
Worth just a dollar to the untrained eye.
But were you to look, and think for a while,
You'd see universes, gods, fates, lives.

Satanic

"Satanic." That word echoed in my head, louder and louder as if a chorus within had picked it up and started chanting, summoning hellish thoughts and demons into my mind as I continue walking, silent, for what is there to do or say? SatanicIt's satanic. Your words strike deep into my heart, a gunshot, accidentally fired at your best friend. Satanic. I offer myself solace in the fact that I haven't told you, you won't leave me quite just yet, but do I want you with me if I know, deep down inside, you hate me, deep down inside? Who else do I have? You hate me, for loving who I loved but it's so natural, this love you condemn as unnatural, I have known no other love. Perhaps had you known, you would not so unknowingly condemn me. Perhaps you would see, see that it's good. Or perhaps you would see, and condemn me for...

I Won't Stay Grounded

They say stay grounded, but what for? So I can be bound, no, chained, to the earth and the dirt? To stretch and reach and never touch the clouds, touch the stars? They say have your head in the clouds, but your feet on the ground, but I know I'm not that big, no immense strength or power or intellect or talent for that. Now let me just be free of these shackles, and float into the sky, feel the air thin and struggle to breathe, breathless at the sight of the trees and the mountains so motionless below, little plastic figures as I fly higher and higher, and lose consciousness among the moon and the stars. For even if I should die, even if I'm unworthy of this magnificent universe just out of my grasp, I will still try.

And even if I should die, it will be among the moon and the stars, and not out of...

Lip Service

This world is dying.
And what do we do?
We go about our day
And maybe some of us say:
This world is dying.
But what do we do?
We pay lip service
But we keep buying plastic
And fill oceans with rubbish
Trap sea birds in black oil
Turn turtles into landfills
Fill the atmosphere with this
Condemned carbon dioxide
We keep burning and destroying
We chop and raze and
Make space for housing
For housing? For land, for money.
This world is dying.
And what are we doing?

An Empty Box

Rain beats down on this black umbrella
Over my head like hearing endless bullets
Shot but never quite reaching their target. 
I cower under this black umbrella
And stare down at my father's old black shoes
And the ankles of my brother's old black pants
So blurry in my vision through these
Fogged up glasses and tear-brimmed eyes.
That's okay. What's there to see but
Black clothes and black shoes and black
Umbrellas and this dying browning grass.
And this brown box. Past the sea of black
All taller than me, black shoulder blades
Blocking my view of what I don't want to see anyway.
Blocking my view of my friend in that box.

For now I'll imagine we stare at an empty brown box.

Anxiety

I cover my ears to block out the noise.
The static, the screaming, the shouting
and clanging and crashing and calling
and who knows what that noise is
and why is there so much noise?

I close my eyes to block out the light.
It's too bright to see more
than the splitting and merging silhouettes
all the same and all so different of strangers
that walk away and towards me
and why are there so many people coming towards me?

I silence my thoughts and empty my mind,
this screaming, blaring, traitorous mind
I am not the master of this mind that screams
and shouts and falls apart and what do I do but
hide —
from the noise, from the people, from my mind.

My Universe

Tonight I want to sit in the grass in the cold and the silence and gaze at the stars shimmering and bright, the nebulae which look like pinpricks of light but which I know if I looked closer would be magnificent clouds of colour, such grand cosmic artworks expanding out from the glowing embers, the signs of the billions of years-long life spent warming those around it, now just barely containing the emotions bursting through. I want to stare at the galaxies, a cacophony of stars each so bright and full of life, so distant, yet still peeking through this black dome around us, just bright enough to pierce my heart, this beating organ warmed by the bonfire of trillions of stars. Tonight I want to sit in the grass in the cold and the silence and gaze at the universe, the universe in your eyes.