love, gwyn

there is chaos in my musings, and you, the perfect listener. (she/her)

[by-gwyn]

Writing Prompt: a Siren's Morning Ritual

This is a writing activity for my Creative Writing class, and I wanted to share it here.

-

The sun is hiding. 

I only see clouds heavenward, most of them silver and gray, a sign of incoming rain and thunderstorm. I gaze further up the sky—ah, I already see droplets of rain falling down. I have always loved the rain.

I feel myself smile. It is only early in the morning, but I sense that today will be a perfect day. 

"I hope for fog today,” I hear someone suddenly speak beside me. I glance over my shoulder and see my older sister, Kai. We have the same green eyes, but she is the prettier one. But that does not matter. We are born to be beautiful—majestic, as those who live above us prefer to describe us. Besides, I am stronger than her. Whatever we lack, we make up in another aspect. 

"I agree. It makes things easier,” I reply. She stares at me in the eyes, not saying a word. I know she knows exactly what I meant. Our other sister Mar’s gaunt eyes as she lay on an abandoned seashore still haunts me as I wake. “Be careful,” I told her as she went that day. Little did I know, she would never come home ever again.

Suddenly, my ears detect what sounds like a plop in the water and muffled voices from above. Perfect. I gesture for Kai to follow behind me. I am the faster one out of the two of us, and should anything wrong happen, we would dare not repeat what happened to Mar. 

With calculated movements, we slowly swim near the voices. Close, but not too close. Just the perfect distance for the unsuspecting to delude themselves that a drowning, hapless woman is seeking for help in the dangerous waters.

I examine the men standing on the wooden boat. There are two of them; one holding a net and one preparing what looked like a bucket. Perfect indeed. One for me and one for Kai. I assume they are fishermen out on an early morning’s work. It is sad that they are unaware of what is coming for them, but I do not feel any pity. Not for any human, anyway.

Then, I open my mouth to sing. “Let the morning come to me, let the spirit of the ocean guide me.” Human legends talk about many dangerous creatures lurking around. I have heard some of them, some I have even met in my lifetime. 

I see the two men on the boat stop what they are doing. “You sailors of the east, hear ye, hear my plead.” Humans tell their children to be careful of things that they cannot understand. But what these humans do not know is that they should be more afraid of themselves.

There is so much more noise now from the boat. I see the sailors scramble to look for the voice. Kai and I take it as our cue to slowly rise from the water, careful not to reveal ourselves. The light fog helps to hide better, but we make sure that they can see our figures—from our long, wet hair, toned torso, and plump breasts. The sailors on the boat are completely still. I can see that their eyes are in a haze, as if entranced. I give them my most beautiful smile, baring my pointed teeth out in the open. 

“If God permits the deed, do not lament and weep.” Kai and I sing in unison. I move closer to one of the sailors on the boat while Kai swims to the other. He looks young, possibly not over 16. I have had my fair share of 16-year-olds, none of them as striking as this young boy, though. I know he is staring at me, and I do not break eye contact. I swim further up and raise my hand to touch his chin. He follows my touch. 

Humans think of themselves as gods, only because they rule the mountains and lands. They are mistaken. They have no idea about the bigger things that lie underneath the waters that surround them. What kind of god bends to the whims of a siren's voice, anyway?

“For the same eyes you see today, you will never again see.” 

I move my mouth closer to the young boy's ear and whisper, "You are mine."

I feel him freeze, and I pull his entire body into the deep waters. 

Humans say to be careful of the beautiful, singing creatures underwater.

They say that these creatures lure you in with their hauntingly beautiful voices and songs and kiss you until your lungs collapse. 

Frankly, I have to agree with them. 

It is all in a morning’s work.

[by-gwyn]

The Four Letter Magic Word

You try to possess love.

But you cannot possess love.

It is not something you own.

It is both tangible and intangible.

Her breath on your lips, your life source. The pain in your chest, tearing you apart.

It is both an idea and a reality.

The depth of her brown eyes, like barren mountains caving you in. Her touch on your skin, burning.

Love comes to you.

Love is inherent in you.

So, if love leaves, is it no longer love?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

[by-gwyn]

the irony of time

indeed, it is true

when we are younger

we do not know any better

the bittersweet reality

of turning a year older

is the harsh realization

that time never stops running

no longer do we run like children

playing in swings and seesaws

now we get drunk, work 9-to-5

and lamenting on our lonely lives

as we get older and—perhaps, wiser

we see that everyone does, too

and there will come a time

where we will all bury our fathers

and cry over the tombs of our mothers

wishing that we never got older

because that means they never would, too

wishful thinking that we'd be young again

back to a time when everyone was happier

when our fathers can still carry us on their shoulders

and our mothers can still hold us in their arms

alas, time never stops

and it never heals, either

when you are young

you know nothing

when you are older

you know everything

isn't it ironic?

when you are young

you wish you were old

but when you are old

you wish you were young

[by-gwyn]

i spend my life waiting for people to go

maybe it is true that i'm meant to be alone

people have their person, "the one" they call

the other half of their lonely souls

[by-gwyn]

when september arrives,

what's with september and all the wishful thinking?

the giving, the taking, the end, the beginning

heavens above, answer my grieving

why the hell does this keep on happening?

[9/29/2021]

[by-gwyn]

eulogy

light a candle

for the person you once were;

passions whose throat you've slit,

dreams you've thrown off the cliff.

with a single match,

mourn their passing

and with every drip of wax,

never forget them.

[by-gwyn]

[]

i'm used to speaking to an empty crowd,

where the words i speak out

are only heard by my own ears

and understood by my own mind.

no, i'm not quite alone.

there are people in the place i call home.

but oh, my mind is still a lonely space,

and i, the only visitor of this place.

would you care.

to visit my mind?

the place only i know,

would you mind if i share it with you?

you see, i'm a little tired of being alone,

of being the only person who knows my thoughts.

it's draining me,

it's killing me,

ripping my flesh off its skin,

blood dripping and dripping...

[by-gwyn]

don’t you get tired of living in your own head?

wishing, dreaming, yearning for something you will never feel with your fingertips.

you should stop living in your own head before your mind convinces your body that your delusions are part of your reality.

but how does one not live in their own head, if their entirety is only an echo chamber of thoughts bouncing back?

thoughts upon thoughts, each one more beautiful—or more outrageous—than the last, only uttered to nobody but yourself? no ear to listen but your own? no mouth to respond but your own? no mind to understand but your own?

you sure are tired of it. but you don’t stop.

they can call you crazy and delusional and out of your fucking mind, but oh, a crazy fool’s paradise only leaves a sweet taste on your lips.

it makes you ache for something greater than what grounds you. something… intangible. something you could never quite reach with your bare hands and tiptoed feet.

but also something you just know is there—something perpetual. always staying. never leaving.

it gives you comfort.

loneliness can drive you mad.

so illusions keep you alive.

[by-gwyn]

the world is a girl

if i close my eyes

i can imagine myself

flying through the night sky

and being one with the clouds

looking up at young and dying stars

and down on cities that resemble their light

the world is so large

and i, only a tiny speck breathing in it

somehow, as a little cosmic joke

put here with either a purpose

or probably with nothing at all

if i close my eyes

i can see myself

wandering in the whispering woods

amongst the trees and wild beasts

with the fairies and elves

in the deepest parts of my psyche

the world is so magical

and i, just a normal human being

with fascination of fantasy and reality

clashing together in a portal

between hallucination and materiality

if i close my eyes

i can see myself

swimming in the blue oceans

being one with the waves and tides

diving with the mermaids

and hearing sirens sing to me

the world is beyond my wildest dreams

and i, just a person enchanted

but when i open my eyes

i see myself again in mundanity

stuck in an unfortunate world

my legs in between bed sheets

instead of sand in the seashores

my lips dry from artificial air

instead of against a beauty's lips

my body inside a girl's body

that i do not recognize sometimes

the world does not revolve around me

and i do not revolve around the world

because i am with the world

and the world is in me

so take me home

take me back to where i belong

where i can feel the wind on my cheeks

the water in my lungs

and the soil on my feet

for the stars are my eyes

the wind is my hair

the soil is my body

and the water is my soul

[by-gwyn]

i miss happiness looking into the mirror

holding a favorite stuffed toy

and wearing printed pajamas

surrounded by innocence in two bright eyes

i miss love looking into the eyes of a mother

love letters and clothes shopping together

not fully knowing then what was hurting

repercussions of trauma to carry in the future

because in the future, i will look at demise into the mirror

and see a person so engulfed in dead weight

that love no longer means anything

but only agony and obliterated dreams

of a child who once was happiness before

[by-gwyn]

my body is a grave

for the person i used to be

she no longer exists

but she has never really left me

maybe i’ll only see her

as broken fragments of my memory

as someone who smiled and laughed

but hid a lot of agony

i know i will never get

to relive her again

and maybe that's okay

and maybe i shouldn't

for in that grave

a new sprout grew

the same sprout of a new me

born from flames and misery—

but beautiful all the same.

[by-gwyn]

drunk on the remains of our youth,

the youth we are about to lose;

how do you go from

kissing under the stars

and dancing on top of cars

to the mundanity of reality

we have to face someday?

do you wish to remain young forever,

basking in the innocence of childhood

and the rebelliousness of adolescence;

not caring, just vivid living,

full of color in front of our eyes?

(written January 8, 2021)

[by-gwyn]

that never-ending feeling of being alone

even in your own home

you reach out to the ceiling to feel anything at all

anything, please

but there's only empty space and suffocating air

(written January 25, 2020)

[by-gwyn]

my skin's red

from staying in the shower too long

i must've been lost in my head

because the water hurts

i don't even know what to write

my mind's too chaotic

but the absence of something is terrifying

where did the time go?

it's like i'm reliving those summer days

i feel so lonely i could cry

why do the walls feel so suffocating?

why does the air feel so suffocating?

(written January 25, 2020)

[by-gwyn]

The Quiet.

There is only the sound of the air conditioning unit. The low grumble of the fairly new machine acts like a company in the fairly lonely night. It is accompanied by the loud growls of the toads outside the window. An aftermath. It rained today. I didn’t like it.

Today, just like any other day, the hours flew like a blur. Too fast that I didn’t even notice it.

I woke up at eight in the morning today with the sun peeking from the curtains. A blink and suddenly it’s already one in the afternoon, the sun gone and the downpour starting. Another blink and it’s almost 1:30 in the early morning, the rain over and the darkness threatening to overwhelm me. But it doesn’t.

Living inside the same four walls for too long has made me lose concept of time. It seems as if time is slowly slipping away from my grasp; another blink again and I wasn’t even aware that more than 5 months have already passed. Five, scary months. Both inside and out.

Inside, my world seems peaceful. There’s no noise and no chaos, just silence expected at a time when everyone is supposed to be asleep. 

There is cold air coming from the air conditioning unit, and I realize, it’s the air of privilege I live and breathe in. It’s comfortable, but also an insult. It’s a blinding escape; where I don’t have to worry too much about the actual world. 

The real world.

The cruel world.

My world, I realize again, is a world filled with routines too hard to break. Embedded into my system, brought up with me since childhood, I am expected not to break it. Just go on with your life. You don’t have an obligation to this world. You’re lucky enough to even have this kind of life to live.

But looking at the night sky outside the windows I have never opened since March, I feel uneasy. The toads are too loud. The air is too cold.

But they’re always loud when it rains. But the air conditioning is always turned up to a freezing temperature.

It’s familiar. It’s routine. But maybe not today.

The four walls have encapsulated me in a quiet that has become too suffocating. It doesn’t feel right. There’s so much going on outside, in the real world, but I am only a prisoner of my own walls.

The quiet is becoming too loud; too deafening. It’s screaming to my ears.

You belong here.

I know families are being torn apart. I know the powerless are mourning their losses of the day. I know freedom is slowly being sold away by humans consumed in greed and supremacy. 

Outside, on the streets. In the real world. The world I just cannot ignore.

How can I manage to just sit here in the quiet?

My breath hitches. I’m supposed to be asleep, thinking about school that’s about to start again in a few days, months after everything—every routine before all this—had to be halted. 

But I don’t sleep.

I look out into the dark sky outside my window. My own room is devoid of light and I bask in it. It doesn’t overwhelm me. But the darkness inside my mind does. If I listen hard enough, I can hear my own delusions calling out to me. 

What you can do, should do, but don’t do.

Is it guilt creeping in? For being able to do something, but not do it. Not quite.

It’s not your fault.

But what can you do?

I cannot sit still. I cannot sit in the quiet.

[written July 29, 2020. edited.]

[by-gwyn]

if i speak

the words may come out

a total mess.

just like my mind

and my heart

that's constantly at war

without rest.

there is no peace

in a world like this

but only an idea

of something

we might never achieve

without

true love.

(written May 17, 2020)

[by-gwyn]

dancing queen,

young and sweet,

only seventeen.

i wish i could dance,

but my limbs are far too awkward now.

i wish i was sweet,

but all i am are shards of coldness now.

i wish i was young,

and not burdened by the weight of reality on my shoulders.

and i wish i could turn back time,

back to the remains of my depressed youth,

so i can breathe it all in

before it is all over and gone.

i never thought i'd make it to seventeen.

(written December 22, 2020)