Nocturnal Shimmer

a poem — Is there An expiry On your first crush? In this life, I felt it. The circular motion Of finality, punctuation. Not the one in English, Tiny and imperceptible, But that of the tiny circle 。 句號 #WritingPrompt: punctuation that you seldom use 💌 Quick! Click here to have these delivered to your inbox daily to smash…

a poem — At this very obstacle I ask myself is this the end? Have we reached the end of resources, such that shutting doors is the best option? I’ve realized: resilience is sometimes a strength, yet sometimes a weakness, holding on to things that I should have abandoned long ago that no longer bring me joy that…

Apparently history keeps happening and I have to make a part II to this — CAVEAT: I am drafting this on November 22, 2022 and likely publishing this in the early weeks of December, which is important to note because who knows what Twitter will be like then. If it has changed since then, then let this be a silly historical post, remnant of the…

a poem — What scares me isn’t The Thing What scares me is that no one else is scared of The Thing nor taking precautions against The Thing If everyone had a healthy amount of fear for The Thing then I would also have an equal amount of fear and precautions for The…

a poem — receipts: i keep them, why do i keep them? crumpled, at the bottom of the bag, they’re not even used for reimbursements or accounting of any sort. i just love their look, the sounds, the crumple, the ink lasered on, the neat rows with numbers added, i don’t know, i don’t…

a poem — no one taught me how to be open-minded / open-minded, often a term doled, yet not embodied / good, but what does open-minded look like, in a sea of defensiveness? / curiosity — to ask, to empathize, to consider above this internal nagging feeling of being wrong, and to learn, rather than to…

Entirely different from what I thought healing would be. — I always imagined that healing was in the big moments, milestoned reached. For someone whose wounds are rooted in achievement (and feeling less than for not doing so), it emerged that my healing became about small in-between moments. They’re so cliche to name too, and perhaps that’s me, still getting…

a poem — I’ve written this poem a billion times in my head, each time scratching out the words. I’ve written this poem a million times on paper, each time, crumpling it up, to be discarded. No, to be shredded. I was asked: which identities or aspects of yourself do you hesitate to share…