The dramatic question
..What is
going on with me?
What's happening
in the world around me?

Everything moves
..I follow
and think
about what it means
and the images shift

I bend
..to the wind
which always blows
There is never any certainty
as to what is going on

Our connection,
is a pale moon above
and stars that shine
they are yours as they are also mine,
we feel the grey of falling rain
the warmth of joy
and the chill of pain,
we live we love, we laugh and we die
with the same yellow sun
and the same blue sky

Let me feed you, they say
When they really want to sell
My teeth are barcodes
My bones are meals

Let me heal you, they say
Then they take yet more
Though Im not slowing down
(You can't when you're poor)

Let me show you self, they say
And pawn their own breath away
Enlightened in pure white light
Blue eyes of divine right

Let me educate you, they say
From the vacant room never left
Of fathers' touches never kept
And dog-eared pages of contempt

Let me, let me, let me
As if I am able to escape
Push me, push me, push me
As if its only my hand that shakes
Violently, violently, violently
In a regime ripe to break

Some people don’t feel the heat.
It is because of those who don’t feel the heat,
that the empty paddy fields turn green,
the roads and bylanes stay clean.
the vehicles of noisy people move without obstruction.
Because of those who don’t feel the heat,
non-motorized rickshaws still move,
hand-pulled carts still survive.
Because of them,
gift packets, perfumes, birthday cakes
reach homes on time.
Some people don’t feel the heat,
and perhaps because of them
– even though fire and smoke pour daily from your mouths –
the earth has not turned to ash,
the city has not yet perished.
+++++++++++++++++++++++

Built for the Fire (more than ever)

I could stay numb.
I know how.
I’ve done it—
sat in the quiet aftermath,
let the weight of loss press me still.

It’s safe there,
in the ache that asks nothing.
No risk,
no rejection,
no reminders of what we once had.

But I wasn’t built for numb.

I was built for heat,
for tongue and lip against skin,
for tangled sheets and laughter
that opens something holy inside.
For conversation that strips the armor
and hands that say
you’re not alone here.

So no—
I won’t shrink.
I won’t hide behind the ruin.

I want love again.
Not the edited kind—
not filtered, polite, or halfway.
I want the messy, honest kind,
the kind that sees me, stays, and builds.

I want closeness that burns with truth,
touch that doesn’t just touch skin,
but says something deeper,
says you matter. You’re real. I’m here.

I want to risk it all again—
not because I forget the pain,
but because I remember the feeling.
What it’s like to be alive in someone’s arms.
What it’s like to look across the room
and know: this moment, right now, is everything.

Yes, I’ve been hurt.
Yes, the loss nearly wrecked me.
But I refuse to stay frozen.

It’s human to want love.
To crave the sacred electricity
of closeness, of presence,
of hands and lips and hearts saying
let’s try again.

So if I love again—
and I will—
it will be fully,
boldly,
fiercely.

Because even after all I’ve seen,
I still believe:
there’s nothing braver
than choosing love
when you know exactly
what it can cost—
and you do it anyway.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved

A feeling of uselessness
A feeling of worthlessness
A sense of unease
A deep fear of the unknown

A deep and complicated feeling of distress
A longing for something more, something real
The need to protect that makes us truly human
Desiring a deep connection with a lover
A promise never fulfilled and a love that's over

Y’know,
the world is flying
right past you now
the water is dark and thrashing
approaching quickly
to flood your lungs
but not before
time floods your mind
with everything
you’re about to lose.

Never again, will you
elbow her in the backseat
dying of laughter
over something
no one else would get
Never see her cap and gown
and smile awkwardly
for a quick family pic
Never hold shaking hands
down the aisle.
The only church you’ll share now—
she’ll be in black,
you’ll be in a box.

Never again, will you feel
the leash tug
after some sly squirrel
Never again hear
a sudden bark
break a silent morning
and never again be greeted
by kisses and tail wags —
not now.
Instead he’ll sit
wondering where you went,
when you’re coming back

Never again, will you
love till your heart hurts
laugh till your ribs ache
cry till your throat’s sore
lie awake contemplating life
feel the familiar burn of the sun.
scream to the sky
just because
Never, experience
the extraordinary mess
that we call life —
ever again

And even if you wanted to—
even if you begged—
it’s too late now.
you’re already
going down.

A poets a lost musician
the talents a gift
the ability to compose poems
arrange words in a fitting way
to evoke strong reactions

However their doomed to a life
searching for their band
a group of people
to accompany them in life
the void of which
will grant the depth of sadness
deep into their writing

The music they've lost
forced to live without
haunts their poem
dancing between the lines
of emotional burden.