Writing poetry has changed me a lot
since i became a subject of the material,
and my words are more fixed and flawed
than myself.

They flow from line to rhyme,
stabbing me into the heart
a hundred pages of thoughts
is spinning so fast
that i can barely catch any of it
if it really means
a lot to me.

It is as to flood me into downpour with it
from the Sun
yet the typical look reflected on a mirror
reminds me of who i really was
and nothing can be re-written from a history.

No roses can blossom without a rain, they said,
like they babbles up themselves to say
in front of enemies
that every petals are new-born warriors
and
the rest of  the past was the biggest blur
as if they were dropped directly into
a wrong time, at a wrong place,
like it's made by fairy tales.

There was a sense of wonder as I wandered through my childhood, gazing up, knowing the trees never ended.
There is tranquility where none previously existed.
There was disappointment when the fence was discovered.
There was a splendid sense of bliss hidden in the clouds among the alligators and elephants.
There were smiles there.
There was patience there.
There was poetry.
There were smiles.
There was music.
There were phone calls that lasted upwards of an hour.
There were times the phone never rang.
There was a need for change that burned so deep, if not sated would choke its way out.
There was self-creation, cut and carved out of the mold.
There were few words spoken and the ones that were usually wished they could take the first plane out of town.
There was coffee.
There is coffee.