if I could paint love

if I could paint love,

it looks like this:

singing you a lullaby when you can’t sleep;

waking up every morning to see what you are up to;

embracing all your imperfections;

cancelling plans to encourage your dreams;

and just being there, like the wind, that pushes you to fly…

(A mother’s love is the most beautiful love there is. Simple, yet strong.)

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how to earn your soul

The first step is the hardest,

acknowledge you don’t have one.

And the next is to unravel~

dive deeper in the waters.

Third, is to connect—

time is the only barrier.

Fourth, shout out your pleas

to the sky, and down below.

Fifth, transform your cries

into music;

And finally, the sixth…

share it to the world!

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Footsteps

I heard him stepping out and slipping in,
the bloody ghost of my past…
intruding my life over and over again
and I feel used,

naked,

tormented,

abused.

I heard him stepping out and slipping in,
laying down his burdens on my shoulder
as if I am a bin meant for the trash
but I felt lighter

when at last…

this time he listens to my plea…
to let me NOT live in his shadow
and create my own footsteps!

en plein air

I catch the drift of the afternoon hum:
of kids playing on the streets,
a mother setting dried leaves on fire
to ward off the little vampires (the mosquitoes),
the occasional motorbikes passing…

I listened closer as far as my eyes can observe;
trees are slowly silhouetted against pale gray sky
Somewhere, cicadas sing their prelude to the night
and house lights one by one illuminate the town.

Embracing the afternoon fading into night,
I wonder if this is how seeds feel underground
(vulnerable and detached from the sun’s light)
the thought is suffocating, so are growth pains.
The kids’ laughter, the fire burning on, and bikes
awaken me to the here, the now, outside…


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