The Transplant

30 day writing challenge (day 5)

Topic: Tissue

Today, I spoke my first words to my ex in months. I guess it was not as bad as the replays in my head. Still, somehow, he manages to make my knees weak with a simple "hi". My heart pounded at its fastest frequency. It is funny how he can still imprison me in my own cage by my own warden. I have indeed really loved him. I wonder what was on his mind when he saw me.

The Transplant

Your compulsive eyes could capture my soul

in a glance. I suffocate by your gaze.

You are a thief.

Stole the glue that holds my sanity and

I fall, for the umpteenth time, from grace.

I wail for the element of me that absconded with you.

My frame rejects the piece of you that fused with me.

A pint of wine twice daily

to suppress the immune response.

This is a diagnosis I readily appreciate.

Arms for Change

30 day writing challenge (day 4)

Topic: Elbows

For the albinos in Tanzania.

Arms for Change

What are elbows?

Elbows is the stump on my right as pure as my tears,

as innocent as my screams; a reminder of my darkest past.

My elbow is my hand and my fingers and my hatred.

The pearl-colored sheen reflects our glorious sun.

It represents my blacken spirit, the horrors of men who

denigrate my being with the charcoal in their souls.

My scarlet pains exchanged for their hearty gains,

and my ashy hugs for a couple of emerald bucks.

Why did you make me extraordinary?

Why did I have to be exceptional?

In this world, the uncommon are sold as common goods in the shadows.

I am worshiped as I am discounted.

Dishonor and worthiness are neighbors across a blurred line.

Like a broken snowflake in heat of summer,

my arm sits on a rotting table, waiting to create village legends

that would inspire the generation of more elbow broods.

Thoughtless superstitions.

Do they not know that our hurt is real?

My silver tip reflects the glorious son.

It hardens from the axe that took my agony.

It resolves from the bad that took my anguish.

My Lord, you created me. I burn like the phoenix you intended me to be.

My elbows signify the end of my persecution.

My elbows signify a new beginning for us all.
It is time to hack reckless superstitions off my home.

Madame Possessive

30 day writing challenge (day 3)
Topic: Gravity

Madame Possessive

They descend softly slow,

but surely, down from high above.  

White, unique as skin, pure as love,

fragile as bones.

She calls out and they come.
Crystallized edges that threaten,

as if to defend grounded children,

soothed with welcoming warmth. 

Possessive nature, keeps us all

forever by her side,

through cold days and nights,

through times tough and beautiful. 

Flying, soaring, reach

for new adventures we seek. 

But slowly, softly and sure,

we'd all come back to her.

An Angel's Mirror

30 day writing challenge (day 2)

Topic: Ghosts (Haiku)

An Angel's Mirror

Buzzing air breathes spring,
Steaming through brusque bleeding rocks.

I stared down at me. 

30 day writing challenge

So my friends and I have decided to start on 30-day writing challenge! We have come out with a list of topics:

1. Addiction
2. Pink
3. Shoes
4. Hair
5. Strings
6. Ghosts
7. Weakness
8. Connection
9. Happy
10. Food
11. Desert
12. Elbows
13. Acne
14. Malleable
15. Rising
16. Rooms
17. Fetishist
18. Fluorescent
19. Family
20. Space
21. Cluck
22. Clutter
23. Grace
24. Forgiveness
25. Procrastination
26. Gravity
27. Tissue
28. Poison
29. Fingernail
30. Today

As well as a list of challenges:

POETRY

1. Write a Sonnet
2. Write a Limerick
3. Write a Haiku
4. Write a Ode
5. Write in Shakespearean English
6. Write a poem with only 1 verse
7. Write while slightly inebriated

PROSE

1. Write a 7 word prose
2. Write  in the second person narrative
3. Write with graphic description
4. Write while listening to a song (mention song at the end)
5. Write purely in dialogue
6. Write while slightly inebriated

Everyday, we would use a randomizer to choose a topic and we would have 24 hours to come up with a poem or prose. Themes and topics are open to any sort of interpretation. We may attempt the challenges at any time, as long as we complete all of them during the 30 days. All of our work would be posted in our collective blog Oddly Inspired, which is already linked to my blog.

30 day writing challenge (day 1)

Topic: Procrastination

Tomorrow, Please

I have always been loving you. When you drew your first breath
in my arms, I touched a miracle. You made
physical pain feel indescribably amazing.
When you took your first steps
into my embrace, I witnessed light. You wobbled
towards me with hands outstretched and from
your eyes, I saw trust -the first in your circle. It was
enthralling. When you first held my hand and planted a kiss
on my cheek, I felt love.
When you first called my name, "Mama!",
I heard music. My innocent sweetheart, you are a work of God's.
I am Mama.

Remember how you used to come back to me everyday?
The sweetest voice is never too far off the motorized
clink-clank of the yellow metal capsule. "Mummy!"
and suddenly, the sun shines a little brighter, the grass grew a
little taller and the flowers bloom a little bigger.
I remember when you told me you got a gold star for
English. I wore my pride as a badge atop my motherly
breasts. I remember when I was called to school to
watch you receive your awards. I clapped loudest in that
auditorium. I cheered longest. The moment captured, framed and
proudly displayed on our mantle. My little genius, you are a work of God's.
I am mummy.

I recollect when yoou wanted to be a princess -
puffy green dresses, silver tiaras, golden glitter and fairy wings.
You were celestial.
Then, fashion changed and princesses were dressed with
blood red lips, black eyeliner, mini skirts and cropped tops.
You were celestial.
I recollect when you would come home and weep. "Mum".
Girls can be a mean bunch. Boys make you miserable.
As I heard the sniffles of your door, my heart pounded with you.
As I heard the whimper of your room, my heart cried with you.
As I heard the exclamation of your tears, my heart broke with you.
My stained-faced child, you are a work of God's.
I am mum.

I'll always love you. As you heave through the ventilators
in my arms, I wished for a miracle. Your silence make
the pain in my chest feel almost unbearable.
When you threw yourself into my embrace and I heard
the empty bottle rattle on, I longed for light. You wobbled
towards me with hands outstretched and from
your eyes, I saw the life seeping out of your soul like
the white froth at the corner of your mouth. It was
fear I never could imagine. When you held my hand and planted a kiss
on my cheek, I prayed for salvation.
When you gasped my name, "ma",
I cried for mercy. My broken perfection, you are a work of God's.
Who am I if not for you?

My baby, please do not go today.

The Living Progression - breathe live reflect touch

The Living Progression - breathe live reflect touch

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of her love.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes in her face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of his passion,

red flashes on his face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes in my face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of my thoughts.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes on your face,

the sound of your cries.

Purple Guitar

About my feelings of going to the DSC clinic tmr.

Purple Guitar

G chord for starters. Let me sing you a song today.

It’s about love, like how all good songs are, for you, of you.

It will tear you apart and touch your heart. You will beg

and plead and cry. May mercy be bestowed.

Maybe not.

E minor to spice things up. Let us go on a ride to space.

You shuffle amongst the stars. They burn so radiantly, like how all
good stars do, for us. You flush with the envy of success, wondering

the intensity of enduring pain they mask to feed the fire.

The molten stomachs that do not churn in the face of fear.

The evaporated veins that do not bleed emotions
but empty promises once made by self to self, aged twelve.

The crumbled bones, shrapnel from war, with nothing left to break,
leaves no trails of cracks.

Yet, a 7^th, you flush in the vacuum you stand, for the vacuum they are within.

You crave for the constellations, trophies of achievements displayed
in the palm of your hands, bright red and searing.
Your artist speaks for yourself.

You drink through your windows, savoring each sip,
never letting cherry lips taste a drop of iced gold.
Your masterpiece of failures built on failure speaks for you.

See, you feel. Feel, you hurt. Breathe, you live.

The ticking at the corner has no meaning to the girl dying inside.

Time stops only for the poor unfortunates to cherish regrets.

Hear, the critics, yourself, muted, so loudly.

Guts twisting to the scribbles pending pen.

Embrace the moon, reflection of your light, as time pauses.

Stars too brilliant implode to massive darkness.

Hold on to yourself, do not get lost in the cadence.

D major.

The stage speaks

The stage speaks
Silence. Listen to the stars. They shine
so bright under the light. Look at her.
Admire her grace as she
maneuvers the riffs
and the slides
and the turns
and the
steps.
See how she manipulates
your body.
Your eyes start to close
and
your muscles
tense.

Silence.

The seats roar
with fervor. The hall stands
and lifts her up higher into the stars.
The circle cheers. The bottom pleads for more,

She hums a tune ever so familiar to keep them
longing. You see, she makes music with her mind.
Her hands dances and her mouth sings but it is your heart that plays along
ever so sweetly, ever so exclusively in a frequency
only both of you register.

Unrequited love

My heart has been confusing lately, which is, honestly, at a super inconvenient time since my finals are just around the corner.

Thinking of you
Checking my phone again,
again. Still no notifications.
Checking my phone again.

Open up Facebook on my browser and
I see no reds on the top right.
Close it. Time to do work. Open up
Microsoft. Type in the header of my essay.
Open up Facebook on my browser.

Do you think of me as much as I do of you?
Of course not. You are amazing, but so is she.
She is kind and caring and broken just for you.
You love her and I... I think of you.

Your hands are magic; the way they move -
dynamic. The music you produce, the music
you command, you capture the heart of
songs and songbirds alike, your voice
resonates the world and makes it
pause

for a minum.
You sang for me once. The keys engraved in my soul.
I still feel the trills and they bring me gliss.
I can't believe it.
I don't believe it.
I cannot believe it.

You are like a work of art; so abstract.
Your heart beats to the rhythm of a dance.
Your alluring eyes amazes me every time -
seamlessly symmetrical like periodic alliteration in a poem.
Your smile, your comforting smile,
bends like the smirk of a quaver rest.
Your clef, sexy as always, tugs on
the bold hard strings of my stave.
Sharps and flats everywhere.

But you are hers and I am not yours.
Those lips belong to her.
Those hugs belong to her.
You belong to her and I am behind the
lens of this happy moment captured indefinitely.

Let me check Facebook one more time.
Do you think of me as much as I do of you?
Of course not. Your dream is her.


On another note, here is my newest composition for SATB: When I Was Your Man



Also, this is one of the better guitar playing I've done in the past year that i've been trying to learn. Please excuse all the mistakes everywhere. :x
La La La (with guitar)

Music Makers

It has been months of hardwork and preparation and finally our concert is over! It has been an amazing journey with all my friends who I now consider family. Thank you all who came down to support me and who have always been supporting my pursue of music. I love you guys.

These are some of the songs which I also did for our choir's concert.
Fly Me To The Moon:



Happy (Curtain Call):



Gimme gimme gimme/ Voulez Vous:



Finally, this is a tribute to the friends who have stuck it out with me through this amazing experience.

Music Makers
I closed my eyes and I
soared through the clouds and the mist and the
light of the man-made sun.

Streams; streams flowing from my eyes
as my gut clenches on every note and every
pause.

Steams flowing from my mouth
as I channel them to the house; full of listeners.

I am a performer.

Streams; streams flowing from my heart
as I opened myself to the individual critics.
Feel me. Feel my music. Feel my soul.

Streams flowing down my forehead,
coursing through my arms as my family channeled me.
Channel me. Feel so I can feel. Feel so they can feel.

We are performers.

Our hearts thumping as we stole- first, their ears,
then, their minds, and finally, their whole selves.
Manipulate them like we are puppet masters.
Make them excited, make them fear, make them cry
and feed off their cheers.

We are nothing without them.
They are nothing without us.

We are whole together as a musician and song.
We are whole together as a singer and the choir.
We are whole together as performers and audience.

We are whole together as friends and family.