Poetry

Completed Poems

The following are completed poems, alternatively, poems I display to others. While most of my poems have rhyme, all that do not strictly obey a rhyming pattern are noted as free form.

Name	Form	Note	Date
That Flowers Fall × That Flowers Fall Like autumn comes and leaves begin to blush Like rains confess the wild’s restraining souls Screams the rowdy youth of such fragile rush Roars untamed minds from London to Seoul Speak love, speak hate and He may laugh at thee At crazed and blinded fixations like fame But though He sings slow ballads to the sea So does he mourn souls as unruly as Cain And look, oh look that flowers fall as well and blushing leaves shower idlers in the fall Like wind lies, like rain dies, like waves shall swell Like flowers fall, like me, all things must befall Does Nature not die certain as shall I? As Nature is beauty, I am alive.	Sonnet	Inspired by Fallin' Flower, one of my favorite songs	Sep, 2021
Poetry × Poetry I've always thought that poetry was some music for the soul. It can break you and change you subtly thus, as a stream caresses its pebbles, as gravity acts on Mars. I was at that age when the raven knocked at my chamber door, and Poetry summoned me forward to decipher her mysteries, whispered that I take on the role of a riddler. As a child, I wrote poetry because it quelled a rowdy mind with busy words and fancy diction. That almost mocked me absurd. Unlearned and naive that I was to think that I can measure art with syntax and rhyme. How did they do it? Keats or Shakespeare drew me closer to the music played between my ears, behind my eyes, and you hear the sounds of creativity- deafening, soft, alluring thoughts presented in the form of Poetry. I have learned in the years of reading her that to be a poet is to bribe the reader with a piece of your mind, raw and genuine Not diction, not rhyme But creativity. And to hold the title of lead editor here and there, writer, though amateur, fully self-aware of my insufficiency, indelicacy, but interest, and affair with her honor Poetry. Would it be cliche to say that she guided me forward. In the darkest of days, as I lay with her, I find the strength to pray. And amateur I was, and amateur I be, but I find peace under the vastness of the sky as I listen to her song of creativity.	Free Form	Written for UC college applications	Nov, 2021
The Silent Thief × The Silent Thief To be carried forward by the tide, the crowd, its ruinous catastrophe, to play the tune of the curious loss, the tragic forfeit of identity, I lose sight of the purpose of my walk, my ever pacing reality. Reality? An echo of myself became myself; A version of knowledge betrayed knowledge. On we march to a pure dystopian realm. Complete thought, semicolon, complete distraught. Some nihilist reality, that is certain: bondage through pain, bond by privilege The plentiful nation of creativity’s ruination- still painfully plain, still dreadfully average. Some time ago I’ve learned to suppress my thoughts, in some unknown corners pressed between the texts. Stressed, obsessed, oppressed by his honor Success. How seductive the concept, how luring the thought? Reality? Some time ago I lost myself to the tide, the crowd. I lost my wealth of power, my voice withheld from myself. Who am I? A version of myself shattered myself and was me; A tale of success replaced success and prevailed. I have long lost sight of the purpose of my walk, and yet I walk on in my ever pacing reality.	Free Form	About my identity crisis and academia	Nov, 2021
Ode to Life × Ode to Life Epigraph: “I love that word. Forever. I love that forever doesn't exist, but we have a word for it anyway, and use it all the time. It's beautiful and doomed.”- Viv Albertine Ode to Life Hear: the soft song plays in the ears of all, that the phantom sound is clear. Like the golden-crowned sparrow in the depth of fall, the melody rings in heavenly halls, the song: Forever And God looked upon us with a pitying glance, for he had forever to spare, while men toiled through their purposeless endeavor, never aware of his Godly thought: Forever In our depth of agony, our souls can only sense- the doom of the scent so ominous, the smell of death is near, his marching song, his mare. He charges on. Is death not Forever? We lie in the coalbed of destiny, blind idiots we are, ripped into living, teared apart, glued together, gifted pain and glory, is that the solemn song of Forever? We collect jubilations to better our existence. We withdraw from pain, perpetual resistance. Revolutionaries against destiny, and the terrors of Forever. If my name ‘joy’, meant anything at all, perhaps it will bring me certainty that I shall live in the tune of the golden-crowned sparrow, not tomorrow, but certainly forever.	Ghazal	About my understanding of eternity	Nov, 2021
只身山水 × 只身山水 Alone in the Landscape Yǔ luò jiāng àn mò rén lǚ 雨落江岸没人履 yù yǎn yī cháo xìng huā qīng 欲掩一朝杏花清 mò yūn shānshuǐ shī rén yì 墨晕山水湿人意 lí xià yǐn jiǔ wèn jǐ xīn 篱下饮酒问己心 Translation: It rains upon the riverbank, wetting shoes of passersby alike attempting to hide the scent of Apricot blossoms once so prominent As if ink had spilled over the landscape, it wets feelings as well me Below the roof one drinks, and a query was made to one’s own heart	Gushi	One of the only chinese poems I have written	Unknown, 2020
Romantic Death- Linguistic Tragedy × Romantic Death- Linguistic Tragedy That words flow from the tip of my tongue, Lolita’s spell upon me. Each stair case another drawn Out syllable, dancing, seducing my loss. Romantic. Tragedy. I speak not your language. I cannot Waltz your steps, you curious soul. I cannot caress the paragraphs like some long lost home, For every grain of sand marks me foreign alone in the wilderness, a mournful tone. You will be the death of me, if not my lover Each syllable a perfect rhyme with mine Each sentence a centimeter more somber Until I lie forever under your spells Until I forever mistreat you as well. Still, Your step a little lighter, and I willingly close my eyes forever. To live a romantic death, to suffer a beautiful tragedy. Is this not the beauty of language? To die, yet live, eternally?	Free Form	Inspired by my AP Spanish class	Oct, 2021
Sleepless × Sleepless Sometimes I hear whispers at night whispers in deep, whispers that cry for enlightenment of something that might save them, make them whole again again, again, again it comes crashing, like waves on land Crashing upon the hopeless soul Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind I search my thoughts in hope that I find what it is, where it is, something that might give me joy again, yet it’s elusive, intrusive, abusive, thoughts fill me in random intervals at night instead it comes slowly and steadily like my world has set on fire On most days I lock the whispers away lock the flames and screaming with keys of blissful ignorance, contain everything in a box named discipline and wrap my soul inside it tightly, it laughs in haunting cries of mimicry I watch the fire burn as it escapes see my world crash down in subtle ways at 2 am it escapes it’s box through all the cracks, and I’m awake.	Free Form	About my sleep deprivation	Feb, 2023
Love is the Language of Strangers × Love is the Language of Strangers I’m perplexed. It’s as if I’ve never felt joy never seen light, never lived or enjoyed smiles. when I see you smile, boy my heart drops, not flutter. The way your eyes twinkle, the way your lips curve The way your burst into laughter, and your head turns And your dimples are like wounds, but I’m the victim Deep, soft, still, they suit you so well I love you, perhaps, because I’ve never met you. it’s the distance between unknown, for love is construed Love is the language of strangers, trust is the language of known I have never loved you on accident but will never trust you to hold My heart in your palms, my soul in your hands And yet you have them, here, when I see you smile When I see you smile, I break, when I see you smile I stutter With imaginary words in imaginary confessions For imaginary love in imaginary processions Love is the language of strangers Strange, foreign ambiguity I wish i never know you, But I’ve never loved you on accident	Free Form	Dedicated to Korean actor Kim Mingue for his role in "Business Proposal"	Feb, 2024
Happy Birthday × Happy Birthday Count your age from 1 to 20 Look at the primes, the rhyme, the cadence As if youth is a metaphor for the plenty Instead of graves of subtle and empty Remnants of what was. what is - Eventful if not youth. what is pain if not naïveté. Or youth is your average symphony. Rather dramatic- anticlimactic, maybe Tender, amusive, elusive tones played In common melodramatic epitomes Zero in on the message and it seems to evade you Watch the end and it seems to persuade you I’m capable of all that I can ever be Truly, there is no limit to possibilities Then it ends, “c’est la vie”, so it is, so it be End of sentence, full stop, when youth does not Really come that easy. Count your age from 1 to infinity Have it define and refine your memories Be what it may, lead where it takes, and - Don’t look back. Happy Birthday Claire, enjoy your twenties.	Acrostic	For My Friend, Claire's 20th Birthday	Feb, 2024
Fear × Fear In passing, I gaze into the darkness that swallow I have never understood why some people enjoyed nature Dark and hollow, empty with artful shadows Like some graceful, all loving, all forgiving creature It’s depth that’s forsworn to be home to humanity There is no beauty but in power, no love but in fear All sins are cruel attempts to recreate your glory For nature will take all that it grants you to bear Like empty vessels attempting to fill the bottomless void Living is carnal, painful, and doomed just in trying You look into the abyss and see what you avoid You look up at the stars, the dead shines upon the dying It gazes back, I see myself in the abyss, empty and foreign Though science claims we are all made of stardust Nothingness is something- it’s God’s unloved orphan In birth we were dying, in death we must trust	Contrapuntal	Inspired by the contrast between rain and spring on Northwestern campus	Feb, 2024
The Renaissance Man × The Renaissance Man A child leaves marks on the palette of history, a lineage of knowledge, marriage, privilege to take part of a growing symphony - a movement for him to lead The apprentice heeds his master, a child his father, a follower his lead. One by one a proud race of artists plants the seed that grows for centuries to come. The Renaissance man. Master of humanity, master of man He embraces divinity in the stone and frees it Be it Architect, artist, chisel in hand the shepard defeats the giant “The Giant” forever stands- tranced in pride and glory, a hero en grande “What should be said of him cannot be said; By too great splendor to is his name attended.” Il Divino- Michelangelo Buonarroti He saw idealism in a tainted world. Dawn, Dusk, Morning, Night Giuliano and Lorenzo rests in eternity and plight woe is the passage of time and destiny Madonna and child, end our suffering! Free the vision from the vaulted sky Free is the hand and Adam’s eye Michelangelo, a man of many faces, In art and thought, fixing glories of graces In stone, in frescos, in words, in hand “The Master” of the Renaissance, The Renaissance man.	Free Form	Inspired by my study abroad in Florence, Italy	Jul, 2024

Incomplete Poems

The following poems are either unpolished or never completed, so feel free to take them with a grain of salt. If you like any in particular, feel free to let me know in case I ever go back to complete them. Most poems written before 2020 have unfortunately been lost.

Name	Form	Note	Date
Tired × Tired But I am really tired Of all the drudgery that you can youth Life’s gone haywire in my mind Minor inconveniences Piled, miles of thoughts racing wild, then out of sight Between hazy eyes I squint and Oh look I can no longer distinguish reality Fallacies, my god, catastrophe! Yet I’ve stayed in all day Nothing to see Here. Where does this path lead? What am I searching for? No one Really knows… so goes each day And nothing to show for. I want to be loved unconditionally I want someone who cares for me I want a soulmate fairy fantasy Where I am all I had to be Me. I wish to be me. I want to be loved, I want to be seen. So goes each day And nothing to hope for.	Free Form	It has been a long academic quarter	Nov, 2024
“I want to go home” × “I want to go home” There’s a silent static on the back of my mind A filter, making life slightly unreal I lose grip of my feelings, scattering them all over “It’s okay Shirley” no one is there. “I hate myself” you say “I want to go home” Where is home? I miss home when I was five when sleep was calm and serene when I never slept alone I miss my grandparents when they smiled more My parents when they stayed with me more “I want to go home” please, I need a really day of break There’s a lot of narcissism in self hatred Every piece I find of the world is me Every poem, every fact, every drawing “I hate this world” I said “ I want to go home” Sometimes I consider jumping Leaving some elaborate message to shit on the world It seems like a lot of work	Free Form	I have no idea what happened on this day	Apr, 2024
Ponds × Pond A wave has crossed a pond of silent thoughts And leaves no sound, nothing, like never here In turn solitude sent its solemn fog To deaden the silence the pond would bear In muddled dreams along muted colors Rain would pour from its unforgiving sky Ripples and ripples with thunderous patter Mourning both the wave and silence alike Alas the pond heard both ripples and rain It sings what is left in the thought of the wave Fearing if next, silence or rain proclaims And take it again, what peace it had saved To silence in the pond won’t return for melodies and ripples it has learned	Sonnet	About being confused as a college student	November, 2023
Shirley × Shirley when I close my eyes, I am 6 again holding my parents’ hands together hoping they’d catch feelings again I was 5 again, standing on the doorframe hearing my grandparents fight one of a million times I was 8 when my great-grandma died Hearing pain and human sorrows And the very last breath she had When I saw my grandma cry I was 9 when I was Shirley for the first time in my life, I was burdened with many secrets forbidden to be told why. Was I burdened with sleeplessness for much of age 15 and cried myself to sleep, that night I turned 17 every birthday turns more somber every year seems shorter still	Free Form	About my fear of birthdays	Jun, 2023
Hate × Hate Hate is a tempting word To describe how I feel About life and living Where subtle strain come crashing Through. and through tears unending I experience my flesh and bones With feelings uninviting I hate to live in and electrical blob Caged in years of stupidity and sorrows Hate to cry about my past, my thoughts Hate to lose absolute control over tomorrow I wear myself out of the pain and struggles So the system shuts down Drown the pain, drown the worries Fall asleep, stay asleep, or simply grow up I hate being stupid, naive and young I hate being sad, and stressed, and dumb I hate it I truly hate it How much I live inside my own head How little control I have over myself And how much everything else does instead How do I live without feeling like dying How do I be at peace with crying Without knowing why the sorrows Seem like they would be never ending Is it truly that I am unsalvageable Unteachable, unlovable Or can I one day feel like living without feeling like a burden to the world	Free Form	Another poem stemming from my sleep deprivation	May, 2023
236 Grams of Guilt × 236 Grams of Guilt sometimes when I cannot sleep I try to envision the real cause Beyond midterms and incessant worries Beyond superficial flaws Where 236 grams of guilt does not control 130 pounds of flesh and bones If .045 percent really makes a difference Would 2 percent not be sufficient to cope? 236 grams of guilt for existing Amongst millions of stardust particles 236 grams of millions of beats To never stop feelings nonsensical 2 percent of exhaustion cannot overcome 130 pounds of suffering From 236 grams of guilt Like 4 hours in bed cannot explain Why I must stay awake And write a stupid poem Just to feel real Again	Free Form	Another poem stemming from my sleep deprivation	May, 2023
Growing Pains × Growing Pains Silent throbbing of a non-existent organ An organ who’s solely controlled by time A feeling that is not unlike youth It aches of stupidity and truth When I learn all that is not to be mine And I am to be time’s dumb and unloved orphan Strange and unfounded pangs Of guilt and solemn tragedies Played out in sour tangs Behind dreams and memories I hate myself, I hate the world too It hurts so real and vividly Between hours and tiny grains Of subtle joys and misery	Free Form	About the emotional growing pains caused by college	Mar, 2023
Circles × Circles Draw a circle from end to beginning The circle is I, the circle is living Between me and the world marks the haunting barrier No start, no stops, no facets for meanings	Free Form	Inspired by my appreciation for circles	Feb, 2023
Fire × Fire In silence blooms a flower in red She lit ablaze the world, my world, As I watched her dance on the rooftops The world was her stage The world was her graveyard She tainted the night with colors and ash and killed with dance steps so courteous that the wind bowed his head at the queen that the souls sung choirs as ominous The world was her kingdom The souls were hers to kill In the autumn wind I felt her reign as colors of red deafened my soul and there I stood, in silence, in awe and there I stood, alone, enthralled Till she caressed me with powerful strides I was her forever subject I was pawn till she dies She gave my world new meanings lent me awareness of her might and in the night when sirens howled she took all what’s within her right	Free Form	Inspired by a dream I had of a beautiful blaze	Feb, 2023
Be × Be Be. Just be, be just. Be Just be just Be. Just be.	Free Form	Inspired by short form poems	Jun, 2022
Pieces × Pieces I am a piece of the story Of me, of the world, of history I am the past of my future A epitome of my time here I am nothing and everything To the world, to me I do not know what I want If I want anything What I crave Yet I slave away Because I need something to do I am not ambitious I am not brave I am not calm But I exist And maybe that is good for now	Free Form	Written as part of an AP Lang assignment	May, 2022
Childhood × Childhood I murdered my childhood in her sleep Wrapped my arms around her until silence Planted my palms across her mouth until mute She died in my arms I was her casket I sold her ashes to Youth Smothered her with the lasting ache of guilt That she killed her childhood and not me	Free Form	Written as part of an AP Lang assignment	Mar, 2022
Happiness × Happiness Her maiden name was happiness she was music to the ears and art to the mind a testament unquestionable, unattainable, unable to be forgotten she was a compass leading no where everywhere her shadow lingers, she is somewhere, something, somebody She is is a sadistic, seductive, solemn song yet her maiden name was happiness Her followers call her everything, the pleasure of rushing adrenaline the contentment of perfect fourth the gaiety of childish whistles the merriment of holiday warmth	Free Form	About the concept of happiness	Feb, 2022
Someone × Someone someone told me I should cry but the spirits laughed in mimicry of a selfish soul with muted thoughts telling others that they ought to think and do	Free Form	About a social phenomena	Feb, 2022
Bibliography × Bibliography I can write a bibliography of me, for you a tale of infancy till future tell you everything, every secret, buried emotions, hurried wishes. Wish I could tell you who am I in simple words. Here’s the thing. It is easy to be ignorant, self deprecating, self aggrandizing, selfish to say I have it figured out, when I chose the default to not choose, to not care, to not be present in the world. I could tell you lies and not know I can tell you truth and change sides I can’t tell you who am I in simple words	Free Form	About my inability to write about myself	Feb, 2022
When I Cannot Sleep × When I Cannot Sleep When I cannot fall asleep I feel the poison seep through my soul A poison called “thoughts” a long painful love sickness a bland dreadful anxiety painful solemn midnight silence I have no tears to shed, nor words to spill I have no inspirations to act, nor contemplations to grasp Just a sudden pang of emotion stuck in my chest that cannot quite clear off as I close my eyes It’s like being heartbroken without ever loved Being betrayed without ever trusted Repent, dread, yearning, powerlessness It’s like living a million lives in a single second I think my soul just broke a little and pieced back together and in that process I learned something I did not before It is like the painful birth of creation a silent epiphany in the darkness of the night I do not know what I learned, but only that I know something others don’t It’s strange because when you lie in bed Your warmth seep through the bedsheets as weariness seep through your mind But you are not tired, you cannot sleep Thoughts oh thoughts. Why so many? Why am I burdened with such glorious pain as thinking? Who made it so? I don’t like it; I don’t like thoughts I have too many of them I wish I can share some with the feeble minded But they call me a narcissist I wish I can share with the sad souls But they call me naive Only I can have my thoughts But they burden me so, such a sweet, horrendous, burden	Free Form	Essentilly prose about my sleep deprivation	Dec, 2021
Raining × Raining On a Wednesday during a summer day, The bitter cold reaches me nonetheless Though I am in warmth, though I’m in brightness Darkness envelops joy regardless Remorseless, the rain. Thoughts like this reach me thus I listen secretly to the falling rhythm, Not very comforting, the rain. With each pounding drop it interrogates me, Each forceful tap it screams deceit, Trying to wash away Earth’s sins, Fighting to wipe away the footprints of the bird that landed here this morning, the fingerprint I left yesterday, the colors, the scents. Everything cease to exist. Only the guilty likes rain, the spoiled. See, a hard restart is what they want, regardless of the feelings of others.	Free Form	Essentilly prose about winter rains	Nov, 2021
Enlightenment × Enlightenment While we stand at the edge of desolation, is this voyage not a wonder in of itself? Is there a true state of elation without a side, a tint of misery as it’s counterpart still? Arrive, then depart at the gate of sonder, then jolt as the hand turns to twelve, as if this magic eases morrow and morrow-year as if there is a higher meaning to the self Tilting frames, trodding travelers, ticking of the all powerful clock. The glaciers will melt, and the clouds will kick, as it does us, as does our minuscule existence, as flowers will wilt. Close your eyes then, and count to three. Forget this tomorrow, return to a state unfelt. Weld your minuscule-ness as a weapon, and kill your way to enlightenment, till you find yourself	Free Form	An attempt to describe knowledge	Nov, 2021
Love Poem to No One × Love Poem to No One Would you let me sit in the presence of your Habits. A tuft of hair out of place, a smile, a jabot Albeit I do not know you well, I’d like to listen to your Thoughts, and let my soul be overwhelmed by your spells. I ought… to confess that I wish to caress your thoughts Such that I feel your pulse with mine, your thoughts in rhyme Love, what a strange concept that does not match mine, but I lie Only if I could hear you speak. under the Vastness, of the sky. Why. Everyone has their own unique song, if only I could show you mine.	Acrostic	An attempt at a new poetry form	Oct, 2021
Faded × Faded In faded paintings and sunken eyes comes a man whose smile speaks like an urging note on the battle ground Like foreign gods of accustomed lands He darts his eyes across his disciples Until twilight and dusk shivered through the light of his eyes he plays -The strings of gluttony and despair to a march of celebration For all whose sign glowed meekly Against the shadows he rung his note Driving each and every one of us mad Monsters we are we cried and bellowed Then with the same wind he came in he left Leaving painful silence to shatter Until his back faded from our memories then only those with the sign would stay	Free Form	Inspired by gothic literature	Unknown, 2021
Intersection × Intersection We have walked drastically different paths 我们曾走过不同的道路 We have seen the world as such 看过如此不同的世界 Yet briefly we convene 但我们曾短暂的相聚 Briefly we were one 短暂的，我们只有唯一 We’ve viewed the world from different perspectives 我们曾以不同的角度看待世界 and now we view from one 如今我们的角度合一 our different paths overlap 不同的道路交叠 our different hearts beat as one 不同的心脏，节奏统一 One day our paths may again diverge 终究我们的道路将分开 One day we might fare 我们总会面对离别 But when I call your name again 但我知道，当我再次呼唤 I know that you’d still be there 你依旧会在我身边 One day we might say goodbye 送一天我们将离别 And live,again,different lives 重新过着不同的人生 But our paths had once intersected 但我们的道路曾经交叉过 Which I shall remember until I die 我会永远铭记在心间	Free Form	Inspired by the breaking up of a band	Apr, 2021
Write a Poem × Write a Poem Write me a poem, you nudged me Okay, I answered, and I began to write The sky is clear, the wind, the seas... No, too boring! You objected outright The knight, the prince, the damsel in sight I don’t like fairy tales! I scratched out my lines Anything in mind? I asked yet again I’m fine with whatever, you shrug- I sign, the dragon’s not slain The dragon still lives, the story unfinished I move on with my thoughts Yet another day wasted I spend another day, writing your poem One that barely rhymes- or makes any sense, frankly though it’s not Greek, or Roman In the end, I write The briefest of lines- To my dearest friend: to your wonderful life Poetry is something that no words can describe so my poem for you is blank with an aside: One day you’ll know and learn with your mind Write your own poem! Or at least pay me! if you don’t mind!	Free Form	An attempt at humorous poetry	Oct, 2020

That Flowers Fall

Poetry

The Silent Thief

Ode to Life

只身山水 Alone in the Landscape

Romantic Death- Linguistic Tragedy

Sleepless

Love is the Language of Strangers

Happy Birthday

Fear

The Renaissance Man

Tired

“I want to go home”

Pond

Shirley

Hate

236 Grams of Guilt

Growing Pains

Circles

Fire

Be

Pieces

Childhood

Happiness

Someone

Bibliography

When I Cannot Sleep

Raining

Enlightenment

Love Poem to No One

Faded

Intersection

Write a Poem

只身山水
Alone in the Landscape