She is
the Ethereal Wonder
and I am her trusty sidekick
Dream Boy.

Her obsequious protégé,
I chop at the shadows
of the baddies
and glass ceilings
to which she delivers
swift kicks and merciless punches.

In the Dream Mobile,
my eyes are at her hand
on the stick shift,
her thumb flipping the
oil slick switch and pressing it—

the sounds of cars screeching and
careening off cliffs
fail to deter me from imagining
the gloved hand in mine.

Off she darts into the fray,
and I hear
the shocked public
gasp,
and the narrator expound,

“Faster than men less qualified but
more likely to get the job,

as powerful as histories
of suffragettes and debutantes,

able to leap over the confines
of impressed domesticity
in a single bound!”

Into her arms fall
the thankful victims
at the last second,

and the baleful embrace
of malevolence
gropes at thin air
where the Ethereal
Wonder once was.

She receives thanks
with a wave of a gloved
hand and bounties
of humility.

She is no damsel in distress,
she is no mere love interest,
and to be her partner
in this great dangerous adventure
will be the most heroic story
ever told—

And perhaps one day she will need saving,
and I will rise to the occasion—
owing my strength, wisdom, and ability
to all she has ever taught me
of being a hero.

I lay awake at night,
and curse at the moon.
I wish I could speak to you,
but you are beyond my sweet tune.
I know when I sleep,
it's the only time I reach you.
You always meet me halfway,
on the dark side of the moon.
I wish I could remember,
what happens when I dream.
I know that I'm with you,
I can feel it when I wake.
It's like you've been holding me,
torn with wanting me to stay,
but you know it's not my time yet,
so you beckon me to wake.
I miss you so much,
at the first light of day,
but I know I'll meet you again,
it's a feeling I can't shake.

I am the ocean's deepest watery depths...
Come ashore.
Disguised as mortal footsteps
to explore,
to explore the Cosmic synchronicities
of the elusive quantum forever more.
I am the Cosmic Breaths of Forever.
waiting to tread on the literary pages of destiny's forever shores.


(C) copyrighted

People tend to like the pretty people. Those with big eyes, cute nose, long hair and rosy cheeks. People with skinny stature, flat stomach or long legs. People who perfectly coincide with the society's standards of beauty. And she's not a pretty person. She can't make people turn their heads when she walks in the room and she can't make boys swoon with just one smile. She's the kind of person you would label as a friend but never as a lover if you're one of those who never truly sees people's worth and heck, she's a treasure, a precious gem. People are so ******* blind not to see how she's a blessing into this world. She's loving and kind and her heart is made of gold and yet she goes around offering it to strangers she meet at cheap coffee shops downtown. When she smiles, her eyes form crescent moon shapes that the night sky envies her. When she speaks, the mountains roar and the ground shakes in fear for her thoughts echo louder than any silence has. And she may not be pretty to other people, but God, she's ethereal to me.

ㅡ *him when he was asked to describe the person he loves

I heard your voice.
It must have been Heaven.
The silvery, ethereal sound of your laughter..
Yes, it was Heaven.

The exchange was so effortless.
You spoke, I spoke.
You laughed, I laughed.
Yes, it was Heaven.

However, in the ease of conversation,
There were so many things I wanted to say.
Instead, I remained reserved.
I feared the reaction I would receive.

I've been fixated on you.
Drawn in by your deep green eyes,
Bright wide smile, and perfectly waving brunette hair.
I've been captivated by your overall beauty.

Consider this an open letter from an open heart,
Spewing out the words I could not bring forth.
There has been no other prospect to fill me with the elation that you bring.

The sequel to "Dainty"**

It was a lie when
I let my body feel static,
and I never uttered a word
you're too quick to judge me
as dramatic,

It's no use at all
to try to prove my ethereal case,
because my case to you
is another flower you never
bothered to water in a
pristine glass vase,

It was a lie when
I let my mind feel static,
but I never screamed;
you'd deem my reaction
s e m i -a u t o m a t i c,
like I'd bring this on myself;
Please dear,
before you assume
for Heaven's sake,
go to Hell.

She was ethereal.
She would walk her way back home under the moonlight in the freezing winter nights. She was made out of pain and nostalgia. Not even sweet death could compare to her pale face, always covered by her tangled dark hair. She used to lie in bed wishing to be somewhere as cold as she felt, dreaming of wreck and defeasence of everything she had ever known. If she wasn't reading stories, she would make them up in her damaged head. If the story wasn't enough, she would let her demons eat the last nerves that somehow had made it through.
She felt alone yet constantly watched over. She was hoping for someone to stay around. She was hoping to be someone else's muse. She wanted them to ache, burn inside, scream at the top of their lungs just like she did. She wanted to be the reason. But deep inside she knew nobody would turn back to her.
She thought she was out of place, out of this world, made of outer space. But she was not. She was just a girl. She bled, needed and loved. She thought her tragically beautiful soul was a waste.
She's been missing for years now.
Sometimes, when everything comes down all at once and the weight of the world gets too hard to hold up, I still can feel her, after all this time. Sometimes I think I can see her wandering, floating around like the daydream she was.
The thought of her leaving forever stabs my chest every night.
And I can't sleep.
Just like she did before.
She's my muse but she never knew.