stories belong to the readers –

you know when you write something and it’s a little personal and a little cryptic

so it’s not really clear what it was originally meant to be about
but the words could technically be applied to many things, based on the reader’s interpretation?
but then some readers keep begging you for what it “really” means?
i’ve never believed in it — in this “real” meaning of something i create.
once i’ve put it out there for others to read, it’s not really mine anymore. well, not as much as it was when it was all in my head.
i put it out to the world, so you can
make it yours.
it’s not up to me to say what’s the “right” or “wrong” way to read something is.
stories belong to the readers –
at least that’s what i think.
so i’m kind of really against being asked for the story behind my poetry. ^-^
i guess it’s a personal preference of mine. 🙂 but i really do believe stories are meant to be molded and personalized by each person who reads them.
what do you think? ^^



i’m scared.

please (-and i)
please understand that the last time i remember being completely carefree about quickened heartbeats and blushed cheeks were the days when i did quizzes on blogthings for entertainment and rushed through my math homework so i could go on the computer as early as possible. those were the days of red scribbles on grid paper before i lost touch with things and then the paper turned into pink and white sticky notes promoting breast cancer awareness with scribbles made from pencils or maybe blue pen i

don’t (-know)
don’t forget i gave you something special twice. and i don’t know if you know this clearly but you ripped it apart once twice bit by bit by bit and threw it away and i took it back. i took back all the pieces and super glue-gun’d them together and hid it from you and locked it and hid the key under the mat and taped the mat to the floor and camouflaged it with words that were the same colour as everything i said before but they didn’t come from the same place because that place didn’t exist anymore since life always seems to

break (-all good things)
break things into pieces or sometimes shatter them. and laugh at you while you try to gather up each and every piece and put it back together but you never really can put it all back the way it was because, some of the shattered pieces are too small for you to see. and sometimes you can’t pick up some of the pieces because the edges are too sharp and if you try your fingertips will bleed and you know it and you know that you can’t always fix things with bandages. and sometimes, you try to pick those pieces up anyway. and you bleed. just like you knew you would. and i didn’t want that to happen to the ‘something special’ i gave you and that’s why i took it back before you could break it that badly. i hope you know that the ‘something special’ that i gave you was

me (-never)
me always, but i liked to pretend as though i could win when i was losing and i just wanted to feel like i was in first place and i guess being last is in a way better than being second. still. i liked to think if i just left the race, or maybe got myself disqualified – whichever was easier – then it wouldn’t hurt to lose so badly and good-ly at the same time, almost like a paradox. and that’s a horrible feeling, because almost no one really likes the last few letters of the alphabet and, so i wanted to drop the race, and convince myself that i could win

again (-last)
again a paradox because winners don’t usually come in last. or maybe paradox is the wrong word, probably, because i never did know the difference between juxtaposition and paradox and all the other contradicting or contrasting or whatever they were called, those terms. i knew what oxymoron meant though. like ‘extremely average’, or bittersweet, or painless love. but other than that, i didn’t understand the terms, not fully, and i just guessed my way through grade ten english, the same way that i guess my way through life. the same way that i guess i gave you almost everything back again, am giving you everything back again. and i think that is what i want except i’m scared because your mind might be made of water and i know that sea monsters exist.

and last night i had a dream that i was a fish who didn’t know how to swim.

just some prose which will most likely be incorporated in some form or another in my WIP slice-of-life story titled “in case you cared”. ^^

forever in a nutshell.

forever is
the moment when today turns into tomorrow
and tomorrow turns into today

it is
going backward and forward
in circles that grow
infinitely and

is the continuum hypothesis
where infinite sets can have different sizes
all too great to contain within a single mind
like the line between insanity and


it is bigger than the biggest imagination of the most imaginative child
and smaller than the smallest mind of the most small-minded man

it is anything divided by zero
and a ribbon in the shape of an eight

it is the lie or promise behind true love and
the faith or wish between heaven and hell
and an illusion that makes it seem as though
things can actually last
longer than


it is as unreal as
always and never and infinite and forty-two
and as real as
the day after sunday, and the day before monday


is something no mind can see hear or know
and the only truth that’s worth it, is this, to


forever is (everything and) nothing, and
nothing (and everything) is forever.