The Writer

the realest parts of me.

[choso-sama]

Tell me.. why?

Tuesday, July 8, 2025

Tell me I am beautiful in the way flowers bloom with the season.

Don’t tell me I am beautiful because of the feel of my supple skin.

Are you interested in my radiating soul?

Or are you interested in the radiating warmth of my body?

Tell me you love me and that is why you want my body.

Or that you want my body because you desire my heart that beats within it.

How can you touch my lips yet not want to write a novel of your “love” for me?

How can you touch my skin and tell me you wouldn’t walk to the ends of the earth for me?

I am a temple as divine as the stars,

But you’ve dismantled my divinity.

With each touch carved a scar

Now my reflection looks at me with pity.

What is a relationship without communication?

What is lust without the presence of love?

What is love without bottomless commitment?

Alone, your empty sugared words echo in my head

Cold, on the floor with my chest tightening

Disgusted, my hands grip my supple skin as the hairs on my body stand.

I hate you.

[choso-sama]

Them to Me.

Sunday, Jan. 19, 2025

I cannot avoid the person I try not to be.

I will accept that

And walk a path that they chose not to.

To be better

Than what makes them terrible

To be my best self

And a better part of them

I want to shape that terror

Into beauty.

I am all of my father’s rage

All of my mother’s sadness

All of their smiles

All of their laughs

All of their love

And all of their despair.

Forced into a person,

Molded into me

Father

I, too, am filled with rage

Sparking each of my emotions

Flaming each of my actions

And charring each of my words

While fighting to survive my despair.

Mother

I, too, am soaked with sadness

Memories full of tears

Hands pained with broken trust

A heart covered in scars

While trying to love those I care about.

I resonate with their hurt,

As much as I share their laughter

Their gleeful, at times gentle, smile

Their dark yet hilarious jokes

And their ever giving hearts.

No matter how much I want to wash away their prints,

They are undeniably embedded into me

I am the daughter of their consequences.

[choso-sama]

Flowers.

Monday, May 27, 2024

Flowers of all kinds,

A bouquet of ones that color your mind.

A vibrance of smells that make up your heart,

I’ll pick every petal that might fall apart.

Where should I start?

To find the roots of you, a piece of art.

The stems that are covered in thorns, the scars that you’ve worn.

How long are your roots?

Where are the buds of your flowers covered in soot?

How do I care for your branches to bear fruit?

Which season is your favorite?

What weather makes you bloom?

Your beauty, I want to savor it.

And have your flowers decorating my room.

Can I hold your hands when you wilt?

Hold you steady when you start to tilt.

Gather the vines of your heart that will start to go wild,

I’ll untangle each strand even over miles.

I’ll reach for the sky to bring rain onto your dry grounds,

Washing away the bugs that nibble your leaves.

I would let my hands burn to bring the sunlight around,

To watch the seeds of your mind bloom before me.

Is it odd for me to feel these things?

I am no gardener,

But I wouldn’t mind tending to the land that makes up your being.

[choso-sama]

Did you know?

Saturday, January 4, 2025

Did you know?

When I realized I might just start to like being around you.

One look, it hit me- gently like a breeze

That crowded night full of people in costume.

“I think… I might like him.”

I told her, my best friend.

“Aw man, I can’t take this anymore..!”

I crouched down and whined. Feelings caught in my chest that I didn’t expect.

Gosh, I wasn’t sure if things would be fine.

As each day passed from then, the thought of you never slipped my mind.

Why did you have to keep catching my eye?

I wanted to know more about you.

What was your intention?

Were you playing a game of chase?

Should I read between the lines of each word you mentioned?

Did being around me make your heart race?

What was the game?

So I’d know how not to play.

What not to say, to assume of you.

Did you know?

How much I love listening to you play the guitar.

Each string played has my heart following in beats,

Strung along like notes on a music sheet.

I’d listen to each snippet on repeat.

Each time, I’d feel like a child

Waiting for something exciting to unfold;

Giddy to listen to each note.

Did you know?

How much I enjoyed every moment that night.

It was surreal,

Walking around the quiet streets at 4am to see a sunrise.

With someone I hardly knew

But I knew that I’d enjoy each moment spent with you.

The night was cold and windy.

I was impressed, really, to have someone put in your amount of effort to spend time with me.

Carrying a bag full of miscellaneous things.

Concerned about my cold hands instead of yours.

“What if we were to date?”

I thought.

Curiosity filled my mind as my lips spilled out questions to satisfy itself.

I wanted the solace of knowing you’d be someone I wouldn’t regret in any way.

And if I chose you, then I wanted to hold your heart gently around any stitches you may have.

Did you know?

I loved it.

The moment and minutes it took for the warmth of the sun to leak into the starry sky.

A moment I’d never forget, never trade.

Then the words slipped from your mouth,”You know I like you, right?”

It wasn’t a surprise, I knew already.

But I had no reply ready for that moment,

Honestly, I was going to ask you about it later that morning.

The only reply I knew was,

“You know I can tell, right?”

I was glad. Glad that you told me, glad to share such a lovely moment with you.

Did you know?

When the sunlight kissed your face

My eyes traced you- your eyes, nose, cheeks, and lips.

You’re such a pretty boy, I thought.

A pretty boy I wanted to know more about.

I pondered about it, about you.

About us.

Us. A chapter I was curious to write.

And I wanted no one to interfere.

So that’s exactly what I chose.

“Today, today, today. Today, you are mine.”

[choso-sama]

Art and Story.

Tuesday, Aug. 13, 2024

I am the artist and writer.

And I don’t know how to escape the painting I made,

Or end the stories I started to write.

So I’m hurt by my own blade in this nonsensical fight.

I’m drowning in the ink that I poured,

I write myself into poetry but still receive no award.

Rather, I continue to bleed onto the page,

Bleeding out more as I age, is all of what I write hurt and rage?

The creativity of my mind is like a cage,

I’m trapped by the emotions that bring about these thoughts.

For some reason I always get caught,

How do I make this stop?

When I start to fall in love with someone, I can’t help but paint my world with parts of them.

They like a certain color?

Then whenever I see that color I see them. That’s their color.

They have favorite games or fixations?

Then that's what I'll remember about those games or fixations.

Those are their favorites.

The more I feel, the more I start to write,

The more I feel, the more my world is painted by the one I love.

There’s nothing wrong with this but it never ends right,

It keeps ending in break ups, how do I continue to love?

How do I end the romanticizing? The delusion, the hope.

How do I put down the pen? The brush, the pencil.

How do I hide my heart? Protect my mind, my peace…

[choso-sama]

Empty sentiments.

Sunday, June 16, 2024

Waves of empty songs,

Singing lyrics to my gaping heart,

I wonder where my mind has gone,

Held in a body that feels like falling apart.

I dance in my sentimental thoughts,

Drifting in the delusion that it’ll all be okay,

My mind, is a battlefield, a place where pain trots.

Dragging myself through this empty play on a burning stage.

I pick up the pen to bleed my soul onto the page,

I don’t know whether I’m crying from the hurt or with rage.

No matter how many pages I write and draw on my being aches,

Still like a corpse, internally I rot, and mentally I start to break.

My existence often feels like a mistake, if I tried hard enough could I rewrite this horror story?

When a minor inconvenience happens I carve my own head out,

No longer having the capacity to tolerate and ignore the shouts.

What is all the life lesson yapping about?

It doesn’t teach me or give me the will to live, do people know when to shut their mouth?

I’m tired of being stabbed by the blades of people’s words.

My home feels like an escape room rather than a family house.

Living in the reality of lesser evils rather than one with kindness,

I’m tired of the spiraling madness.

I’m losing hope in the moldy mess, when will I be able to live in peace?

Or will that only happen when I’m laid to rest?

Will I ever get to be my best..?

[choso-sama]

Artist and Writer.

Thursday, June 13, 2024

When will I have to no longer be the artist? Writing words instead of drawing on my wrist, For how long will I have to write the story, short or long? When can I be the piece to admire rather than the admirer's eyes? Is that wish so wrong?

My hands have bruised from the creativity, creations beautiful to look at but strenuous to create. There’s no break, only a pause, and then my hands seem to move on their own. They write and draw about what’s shown, exhausting my mind when I’m alone.

What power do I have with these hurt hands? I can mold things into art but what is the point of that? The sanity of my being is being held together by strands. My projects and pieces are left in the dust of my sorrows Even I wonder how I have the energy for every tomorrow.

My fingertips cannot forget the touch, texture, or warmth of the subjects. Like memories flowing through the river of my veins and nerves, I wonder what purpose does this sentiment serve. Cause and effect, I build sculptures but the sculpture of my heart has cracks. Filling in my creativity with delusions along with the facts.

I want to be the art piece, the poetry— the creative story… When will someone do all of that for me?