Colourful LanguageThey talk blue. You see red.
Sometimes The Clothes Do Not Make The ManI am not the manleft hanging in the closet -the patterned plaidof slip knotmother sent for Christmasor the herringbonecaul of woolthat shrouds my skin from winter.I am not the grey flanneled stridethat steals the sidewalkfrom children jumping ropeor the cable stitched fishermanstalking the wharfand crumbling pierwhen dusk comes calling.I am but a bonescrapand a dream,a pluralof nerve and tendonthat keeps a distant profile,coaxes livingfrom these garmentsand owns the face of many.
LoveIt's the song on the radio that reminds you of what you had and what you lost.It's the smile that a baby gives when she is genuinely happy.It's the sound of a laugh from someone who hasn't laughed in a long, long time.It's the friend who still remembers you even if you call after fifteen years.It's the last piece of chocolate saved for you in a box you thought was empty.It's the gift that is exactly what you needed, when you needed it.It's the two hour ride across town, just so she can see you before she leaves.It's the dog who waits for you to come home, just to give you all the affection in the world.It's the companionship one feels in silence when they have found their best friend.It's the feeling of a warm blanket someone put on you after you fell asleep.It's the boy who does the stupidest things in the world, just to see you laugh.It's the girl who kisses you the way she has never ever kissed anyone before.It's the woman who gives up her seat on the train to the old la
Leather Bound Birds When I met her, it was raining, so I offered my umbrella.'Here,' I said, touching the girl's wet shoulder lightly, 'Borrow this.' A small smiled fluttered over her face, 'No,' she murmured, 'The rain, it's inspiring.'I didn't understand, 'But, but... You're drenched!' Slowly, she turned to look at me, her eyes were heavy with pity, 'I cannot take up your offer,' she said quietly, 'When the sky is mourning the loss of summer it is only kind to suffer with her. The summer is her child, and every year he vanishes. If we allow ourselves to taste the agony of a grieving mother on our lips, and recognize it for what it truly is, then we ourselves become stronger. More sentient.' Still perplexed, I asked, 'But aren't tears meant to be salty? This rain is fresh.'Quite to my surprise, the girl laughed, 'Oh! Don't be so silly!' Her tone wasn't mocking, but it bruised me all the same, 'Whoever said the rain was tears?' She continued, 'No, the sky
Make Up To Break UpI use your mascara flooded tearsAs ink for my penA pot full supplied as I suggestThat we still remain friendsI dip the flight feathered quillInto those murky tearsThe ivory parchment paperWill soak them up nicely my dearI use your powder based foundationAs I'm ashamed of these scarsThere is no foundation to my painSo how did it get this farI paint 'love' and I paint 'hate'On to manicured finger nailsYou make up your pretty faceBefore you make up another taleI use your ruby red lipstickTo tell you of my curseWrote 'redrum' on the mirrorYou see 'murder' in reverseMake me up to be beautifulBefore these scars become infectedI am the only animalOn which our make up has been tested
Writing is DeadIn stories the winners win and the losers lose. The lovers love and the haters hate. Everyone is painted in vivid black and white paints and, as a result, depth is dead. Meaning grows on stunted trees of morals, in orchards of clichés and half-ideas. Characters are as thin as dried out blades of grass and blow helplessly in the wind. I just want to write something beautiful, but I can't. The world clings onto my feet and refuses to release me. My imagination is weighed down by heavy reality. I want to run and sing and jump and cry and laugh and cheer, but only with words and paper. And I want my words to make other people feel like that too. I want my words to fold like wonderful origami and create a world in which to escape to. Only now I am stuck. Trapped in the orchard of clichés with
Cinnamon Souls"You're mixing water in your coke again.""I know.""You do that when you worry.""I'm always worried.""No, you're usually cinnamon-in-your-tea worried. This is water-in-coke worried and that is seriously beginning to freak me out.""I know.""...""What?""What are you worried about?""You're going to think it's stupid.""Try me.""Well...do you ever wonder about the kind of guy you're waiting for?""I think we all wonder about that guy, love.""I've been thinking about him more often than not lately. What he would be like, I mean.""Oh. Well...if it helps any, I know what mine would be like.""Really?""Sure. He will be tall, so I have to stand on my toes to kiss him. He will be kind so I can tell him anything without fearing him judging me. He will be strong so he can carry me when I fall.""Wow. Sounds like you have this figured out. I guess we all have some idea about what our soulmate should be like.""You know what yours will be like then?""Who, me?""No, I'm talking to the li
Knite FlierI can't see the stars tonightCovered up by our human pollution,Smothered with our ruthless destructionI am a dreamer,I have hopeThat's whyI'll fly my kiteInto the lonely nightAbove the smogAnd put my stars in the skyI throw my swallow into the voidThe others followDelusions of happiness hover in the nightBringing hope to dreamersCall me hopelessCall me a foolBut I know somedayI'll make things rightChina's stars will shine.
Complicated"You know, personally speaking, I don't think you're really unwell at all.""I'm sorry, are you the one who is sick or am I?""There is nothing wrong with you.""Can you say that again?""I said, you aren't sick!""Whatever. The receptionist is calling me in, anyway.""You're a hypochondriac.""What?! Listen you-""Look, just go inside. I'm sure the doctor will say the same thing.""Fine!"*"So. What did the doctor say?""That it's complicated.""Complicated?""Yeah. They need to run more tests and figure it out.""Really?""You sound skeptical.""You told him that you only get 'sick' in history class.""Yes.""And about how your heart races and your hands shake.""Yes.""And about how you can't sleep at night and you can't concentrate.""Yes, yes, all of that, I told him everything I told you.""Did you also happen to mention the boy who sits in front of you in that class?""What's that got to do with it?""
""Seriously. What?""Tell me something. Have you noticed
As If Nothing Could Be Stranger 'I have killed the one I love, as surely as if I'd placed a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.'The girl passing by stopped walking, and looked back to face the speaker, 'What did you say?' 'I have hurt the one I love, I betrayed her,' The speaker sighed, before turning to sit down on a nearby bench in the Church Yard, 'But you cannot begin to understand that.' Her eyebrows raised, 'Try me.'She found the boy's mournful words arrogant. After all, she too had broken a fair few hearts in her time. No human being is innocent of that crime.'Okay then,' He said, a crooked grin creeping onto his lips, 'I'll try you.'Quickly, the boy sprung to his feet, and grabbed the girl firmly by the hands. Her soul gasped, and against her will fear gripped her stomach. Of two things she was certain. One, she had never met this person before in her life, he was a perfect stranger. Secondly, this boy this man was much stronger than she could ever hop
10 Reasons To Buy Toilet Paper1) To stuff my bra in hopes that you'll see me tonight2) To dry the tears from my eyes when you don't3) To blow my nose and try again tomorrow4) To keep in my pocket just in case5) To dab my lipstick before our date6) To fix my mascara after you say you love me7) To clean my glasses and see the truth on your collar8) To wipe the crap off of your lips when you swear I'm the only one9) To use every roll to cover your house in blankets of white10) To replace the toilet paper I wasted on you
Blue EyesBlue Eyes:A man once told me that blue eyes were bestSo I decided I would put these words to a test.I ran across the globe and found a blue eyed fishIt tasted very tasty when served as a dishI then went to Ireland to find a blue eyed gnomeInstead I got a Lephrechaun whose name was 'Jerome'I used him as bait to catch some blue eyed miceI suppose he now regrets that he lost at dice...I then used the mice to catch a blue eyed catI then used the cat to catch a blue eyed dogI then used the dog to catch a blue eyed witchI think I left that one down in a ditch...In any case...I returned back home to my quaint boulevardWhere some band named 'Greenday' was out in the yardI asked the singer what he thought of eyesBut all he muttered was 'cakes are lies...'Feeling quite unsure about the blue eyed theoryI decided to talk to my friend named MaryShe had a cute face and her eyes were greenSo I told her those were the best I'd seenShe invited me home for Coff
FeverMy fever is growing stronger and I'm feeling rather faintI can see the walls are moving like dancers in the paint!They cartwheel and turn as they soar through the airI wonder how they do it but all I do is stareThe clock is ticking madly and soon it starts to chimeI think I'll probably turn this into another crazy rhymeI appear to be creative but I'm really rather illIn fact I'm only typing by sheer force of willMy eyes are actually closing as my fingers tap alongIt seems my love for poetry is really rather strong!But before I slip away to sleep I must complete this workI'm afraid my need for excellence might be my only quirkSo here's a simple message that I've always wanted to sayIt's just a simple thank you for showing me the wayMy friends have made me stronger and showed me how to liveBut I'm afraid these simple words are all I have to give:Thank you...-Chen Yuan Wen, 15th may 2012
KidKid:I enter the classroom and look aroundI sit at my desk and stare at the floorNobody here ever tries to talk to meand I can't really talk to themI usually wait for class to beginBut ten minutes can feel like an eternityI wish I could pop in my earphonesBut they cut them in half yesterday...Sometimes I hear them talking about meBut the words are always the sameThey say it so much that I start to believe;That I'm really what they say I amUgly, fat, stupid, beast;These are the lightest words that they useI wonder why they have to do it to meBut I don't know what it's like to be normalLunchtime is usually not so badI try to keep to myself wherever I canIt didn't work so well today thoughBecause they noticed me sitting in the cornerThe biggest one in the group decides to approach meHis words sound like he's speaking in tonguesMy heart seizes up and I'm too scared to reactSo he ends up pouring milk over my head
Six Words for a SlumpSix Words For A Slump:You're tired, unable to create anything.You feel angry; the anatomy's wrong!Why won't these words come together?"Nothing's right anymore, my hands tremble..."Yet the solution is fairly simple...I'm showing it to you now;Break up your ideas, smaller sized.They come together, like in Tetris.Rotate the blocks; shape your art.Draw chibis and stick figures too.Instead of epics, try a haiku.How about a six word story?If your mind is blocked, overheated.Let it cool; take it slow.By attempting all the smaller things,Your art is sure to grow.-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th January 2013
A Very Short StoryEveryone was two inches tall.The End.