Bastard,

Photography by Hilde Engerbråten

I became so much more delicate

when I was with you—

in body

in spirit

Some days,

a strong gust of wind could’ve scattered me

over the globe

like ashes in an ocean

You taped HANDLE WITH CARE on me and

ignored your own warning

And when I was shattered on the floor,

when I was left sewing together

what was left of my soul

Without you,

That’s when I woke up

and finally realized how much better I am

Without you

So t h a n k y o u

for teaching me

I don’t need anyone but

Me

— Yushan C.

Hey y’all!

I’m absolutely terrible at posting things regularly, so a massive thank you to everyone who’s following me and bearing with my non-existent planning skills. I’ll try to post one a month at least from now on, but no promises cuz uni is crazy like that.

I’ve gotten published in a few places since I last posted, and I’ll link them below! It’s super exciting, and I hope you enjoy the poems.

amaranthine

Indigo

the ghosts in my home still haunt me

(there are also poems in InkMovement’s Edmonton Youth Anthology, Vol I, but they only print in paper so I can’t put the link here)

There is beauty 

in the silence, in the stillness, in the gone-ness.

In the dripping water casting ripples in puddle—

who is left to see it?

In the soundless streets—

who is left to hear it?

-

There is beauty

in the empty, in the quiet, in the ghosts.

In the burning lights, haloes silver and rose—

who is left to see?

In the winding roads, snow pristine and clear—

who is left?

-

There is beauty 

in the dark, in the soft, in the peace. 

Silence is a commodity rarely found and never sought, 

An extinct creature killed by advancing times. 

There is beauty in its return; 

There is beauty in its resurrection.

-

(who is left to hear?)

-

—beauty in a time of mourning (y.c.)

Forest path

Sometimes I think that eternal love is the adult Santa Claus … we all know that it does not exist but nobody wants to hear it …

Alessandro Cattelan 

@thelovejournals

(via thelovejournals)

Who Decides?

Who decides what is right and what is wrong? Is it us— our hearts, our beliefs? Is it society— feeding us lies and truth in equal measure our whole lives? Or is it nature— the ever-present, slow-changing world we grow to love? Besides, who are we to choose? Right doesn’t come as pure white. Wrong doesn’t appear as stark black. Shades of grey dominate our world, and everyone is trying to decide which shades are worse than others. Our whole lives are founded on what we believe in our hearts. In that way, no one is a villain. Everyone is only trying to make their way in a world where good and evil are undefinable.

So don’t be so quick to judge. Battles are rarely fought in plain sight of others; rather, they occur in our hearts and souls and we wear our scars like trophies. Time and time again, we fight for the good in us. We fight to meet our own goals, to conquer our own worlds and fears and insecurities. Because demons will always lose to angels, if you put your mind to it. After all, without angels, demons would exist. And without demons, angels would have no meaning.

Everyone loves a good tragedy.

The broken pieces scattered in an abyss

The quiet pleading in the rain

The silent aftermath when all is

said

gone

dead.

Everyone loves a good tragedy,

but I suppose the tragedy is us, isn’t it?

Too young to give up

Too old to make up dreams

that fly us from reality on golden wings

— until the tragedy is them (y.c.)