Lady in chrysalis


The following poem the first big assignment for the writing class I took last semester.

It’s about a coming-of-age lady told in a metaphoric language, and the butterfly is the supposed end-result. Anyway, this poem can be read in 3 ways: Straight-on top to bottom, the bold lines, and the non-bold lines. Hope you like it :)


They say: Grow up.
Find your meaning. Read between the lines
to become beautiful, you must scrub, exfoliate, moisturize
within, there lies a budding potential; a diamond so bright, waiting to be discovered.
I do, all of it, but still don’t feel comfort under this skin.
What is my purpose? Where are my wings? I can’t see it.
I can only feel my scratchy eyes and sandy surface eroding away.
The more they peel, the more I become abrasive, my soul untouched
While I can’t move this way or that way, a lady-like position doesn’t allow my body to move an inch
I asked the grown-ups: Does my shell protects, or am I in a bubble of lies?


I moved.
Then I hear them say:


“We protect you so in time, you can effervesce each flutter as you fly.”
“It’s a growing firmness.” Resilience crystallize, breaking apart the shell, uncovering my light
It was an alluring cadence, my move. But of age I have to come, I discover.
It’s dusty skin-deep, but don’t lose sight, I affirm. In a moment you’ll be there,
where I don’t have to migrate, where I don’t need to move an inch, where I can call home, I settled.
the turning over of greener leaf, of where I depart from my old skin
torn here and there, this way and that way, now
spreading my wings – tattered things, flaws my folks considered beautiful.
For beauty: Grow up, I say
rinsing my dewy gem of eternal bliss.




 via hay blog hay


The placebo affect


See all of my Creative Copy Challenge results here.


Sick of your life? Tossing left and right?
Few people wait just a little bit longer.

Keep, keep going,
but open your heart,
and listen hard: Why are you here?  What is your purpose?

You must make some reason to believe
in the good things awaiting you.
Start thinking carefully
about your goodwill, as long as
it takes for you to get it and keep it real.

Because being one of the few
is like being a really sick patient who doesn’t take pills
it takes 100% patience, and that popularity is too mainstream.

While answering these questions,
enjoy the ride,
the quest to conquer your passionate soul.






Just a little something for our writing class. We’re supposed to describe our soul.

I thought of mine, I thought of my beloved, I elaborated the whole idea, and this is the result.

‘Tis little soul hops to and fro
jumping from pillow to pillow
giggles. I wiggle and jiggle my tail –
it tickles me.

At this high, I yearn for a fellow
to give for, of myself, at those pillows I throw
‘tis running Spirit belongs to my beloved Master
but it desires to come out and play! “Woof! Woof!” I want to feel alive!

I dream of a furry boy of my kind
who smells and feels bigger than my own
I get all soft in this bubbly air.

What huge rear!
What big ears!
And that wagging tail!

My Master sees through me, I pass the bone to this man;
all my helpings into his bowl. I drool.
Sharing is good, My Master once said. I share
in hopes that his protruding, pronounced nose would sniff back to
where it belongs – locked with mine, his my key.

I see him. He sees me. “Woof! Woof!”
Master kisses me softly, “Confidence, little one,” in my ears
I jitter. “Play with him. Have fun!”

We played in the bushes, wrestle and fondle our bodies –
we made it through the rainy day.
I’m your bitch, I bark. He licks my face
cushions his nose on mine. It felt warm while it’s cold
like a fallen raindrop nestling on the tip of my nose.

“Woof! Woof!”, he says. “Wife! Wife!”
His tail pointing at me as the first golden rays begin to arouse
‘tis feeling, it tickles me, our tails tangle as a spoonful of spaghetti;
I snuggle in his belly, he cuddles all of me
Our souls become one.

We are home. Me and him
and the Master of our little souls.




Haikus to ponder upon for the week


I recently learned how to write haikus in my creative writing class.

Haikus are a kind of poetry originated from Japan. Traditionally, a haiku consists of 17 syllables in total, usually in the order of 5, 7, 5 syllables a line. This week, I practice to write 3 haikus following that rule. Here goes:


Caught in the Moment

He glanced; she looks up
Her eyes smiled, she says, “Hello!”
and the world stops spinning.


Evening Run

Gold rays fade to pink
Flowing. One, two foot flutters
to the finish line.


Tea Time

Honey and lemon
in steamed water turned green –
Higher consciousness

 Which is your favorite? :)



Twinkle, twinkle

Just a poem I came up with while feeling emo. Nonetheless, enjoy.


I may be slim
but not a light.
My soul is dim
you make me bright.

You push it right
You pull me tight –
a distant star, I am.

Chances are
I’m merely a fleeting thought,
a figment of your wild imagination.

But here I am
much alive and shining,
Made for you
Made of love.

You + me
together we shine
Like golden rays of sunshine.

It goes
We glow,
We grow.




via Art Gallery Fabrics