The Beasts of the Grey | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone,

I hope this summer has been good to you so far!

The Beasts of the Grey

“I swear, it’s that squeaking fan.”
she mutters, glaring down the rotating metal,
clanking and blowing cool air around the room, yet
for some reason her mind remains hot and unsettled.
Down the street, she hears trucks driving
from point A to
point B with the latest summer hits, hotter than the summer sun
but her envious heart feels as cool as the end of Christmas.

Blood drips from her nose and she leaps to a start.
“What in the world! Why is my nose bleeding?”
The bright red color illuminating all life shakes her to the core
as she’s reminded of her origin story,
starting from two into a beautiful unification to multiplication.
She stares at the veins crisscrossing on her hands and
wishes she could see the blood racing around like messengers.
All she feels is the startling pulsating
and the quietness of her soul
and the words, stuck.

Thunder strikes the sky in frightening allure,
the roar quickening the pulse housed in her chest.
Her eyes remain glazed, glossy, gilded with a sheer covering of
tears, the supposed material of renewal.
Lightning flashes across the city, catching her eyes
as she looked for where it came from and all she could see
was a sea of grey, ominous and looming.
She wonders after a spark of color finally floods her fears,
drowning them and wiping them afresh.
“Where are the whales that swim in this sea?”

If you got a sad connotation from this poem, then you’re on the right track. This poem is meant to give off the vibe of helplessness in the ordinary, but with struggled attempts to better things. For those who have been reading my works, you’ll know that there is always a line where I tie everything together and oftentimes, that line is the spark of hope even in a sadder poem.

Basically this poem’s motive is to inspire getting out of a lackluster situation, specifically loneliness. We’ve all dealt with loneliness before ranging from you’re walking by yourself to being at a party, but finding no one you could relate with. With the narrator in the poem, she seems to be pretty trapped within herself especially with the act of pulling herself together. There are bought of frustration (the squeaking fan) and distractedness, yet in the end, the color comes back to life.

In the first stanza, it’s obvious that she’s envious of people traveling and doing things, but with the second stanza, she starts to ground herself and finds perspective in remembering who she is and where she came from. I took it literally and wrote about conception, the origin of life. And in the third stanza, the narrator is literally startled into a new state of thinking, breaking free.

This leads onto the title of the poem, The Beasts of the Grey. It’s meant to be a double entendre with the mention of the whales at the end of the poem and the “beasts” that can be anything that troubles you and the “grey” would be the mind. The main focus of the poem are those “beasts” that live in the “grey”, which often times we choose to hide instead of dealing with.

I hope you enjoyed the poem!


107.9 FM Summer Hits | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone,

I hope your June is going well so far!

107.9 FM Summer Hits

I’m in love with the shape of you.
But she said, where’d you wanna go?
How much you wanna risk?
‘Cause I got issues
But you got ‘em too
So give ‘em all to me
And I’ll give mine to you
Oh na na, just be careful, na na
Love ain’t simple, na na
My sunrise on the darkest day.

Top 100 hits
YouTube views scratching the millions
Commenters loving the singer, being the faithful fan, a first discovery
Interviews with Ellen, Jimmy Fallon and Conan — the big names
What an amazing performance!
And they glow with their perfect contours, hot swag and
go back to touching the hearts of teenagers
just wanting to feel the wild side of life
through accessible lyrics.

And my heart stops and my hand pauses
as I scroll through the FM and AM trying to find a drivable tune
only to hear a love confession that could only be
whispered to me in the dark, your lips brushing my ear lobe
being filtered through glamour lips
and my heart can’t help,
but swoon.

Can you guess which songs I put in my poem? They’re pretty well known at the moment, so I’m pretty sure you can guess. Starting from the first line, it’s Shape of You by Ed Sheeran, Something Like This by Chainsmokers feat. Coldplay, Issues by Julia Michaels, No Promises by Cheat Codes feat. Demi Lovato and Despacito by Luis Fonsi feat. Daddy Yankee. Give them a listen and see if they speak to you in any way.

This poem is basically about how millions of people listen to these songs intentionally or unintentionally and one line or the entire song speaks to them despite it being so public, in-your-face, or mass produced. From the first stanza, I go from the particular lyrics that have spoken to me to the image that the singers have to the more individualist image of listening to the song and connecting it to a memory.

I think this is why there are so many “love” songs in the musical industry and why we just love talking about romance. We either lack it, so we want it. We have it, but our experience is always unique, but similar, so we want to share. Or we want to reminisce on a portion of our lives that was good. Whether or not we want to admit it or we like to proudly show it, these pop songs somehow make their way into our lives.

Which song do you like so far? Issues by Julia Michaels has been running in my mind lately.

Thanks for reading,


A Fragile Soul | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone!

I hope all is well with you!

A Fragile Soul

Yellow hats with a pineapple
Pink hats with a flamingo
Blue hats with a seashell
Black hats with don’t mess with me etched in neon thread
An expression of my soul.

Athletic pants worn when snacking
Red lipstick traced for a touch of boldness after a breakup
Sweatpants worn as comfort for a final exam
Undies under a sheet, watching a rerun of Friends, just because
An expression of my sorry ass.

“You don’t know my life!” she shouts holding a bowl up high
threatening glass shards exploding everywhere.
Hot tears flow down my face and a small relief mixed with guilt
explode as the bowl kisses the floor —
An expression of pain.

“You’re precious to me.,” he mutters after a long day,
sending flutters racing throughout her body and she holds him tight,
kisses him good-night before drifting into a blissful sleep —
An expression of love.

This poem is about how beautiful humans are and how multidimensional we are. I really love reading and writing poems like this especially when I’m having a harder day because these poems accentuate the simplest beauty of someone without them even having to try very hard.

I start the poem off with a simple description of hats. I’m a big fan of colorful hats with a small mundane (pretty exciting) icon on the front. It’s like a little demonstration of who you are based on the color of the hat and what the icon is, but you can never really tell who someone is based on their hat. From the simple description, I wrote an expression of my soul, something quite heavy to start off the poem.

In the next stanza, I poke fun at some ironic outfits (mostly at myself) and how we really love to get comfortable. Notice the trend? During the summer, I love to write about relaxing when in reality, I relax a bit too much to the point where my mind has melted into pudding. Moderation is key! 🙂 I’m sure most of us has found ourselves in these situations.

In the third stanza, I transition to more personal situations and this one is of anger and an impulsive decision. When I was a teenager, I would clash badly with my parents and have bursts of anger where things end up being broken. It was a bad point in my life, but I’ve risen out of it and now I know how to handle my anger better. In relation with you and the poem, everyone has had a situation similar to mine and while it’s not a pleasant time to reminisce, it has happened and shaped aspects of your life and those affected for better or for worse.

In the final stanza, I delivery my final blow — love. I’ve noticed that romance is something everyone wants to be involved in whether by being in a relationship, watching romance movies, reading romantic works or pampering yourself. It’s a definite necessity and there are two ways you can interpret this stanza.

  1. Cherishing your significant others and the small, loving moments.
  2. Remembering to love yourself, even telling yourself good-night and having a good mind set to try and have a good day.

Every one of us have a different persona, but we’re all beautiful and fragile souls, meant to be treated right and cherished. Love yourself! 🙂

Thanks for reading!



Automatic | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone!

Happy June!


In this world, everything is automated
no need for our fragile and gentle hands
to grace the products that we own.

The metal arms pinch and pull
seal and carve
heat and cool
package and ship
print and fill
hundreds, thousands, millions
just to satisfy our needs.

The train rumbles under my feet
and I look to my left, and a sense of stress crosses their face
and to my right?
a look of tiredness masking the truest of joy.
Across from me, a man is indulged in the present day politics
while a women further down is in another dimension with music.

Stare straight ahead and mind your own business.
If you see something, say only what’s necessary.
We’re headed one way to do our own thing
just like how packaged donuts give a lasting hug after a loss
how Kleenex dry your tears after a bad day
how you work for the money
sit somewhere and work for hours
interacting with people who are kind of friends
but not really but you would be down to get drinks with
but you wouldn’t tell them about
those thoughts you have.

In this world, everything feels automated
from the “hello” and “see you later”
and the commute to and from work
and the process to get your “perfect” life
waking, sleeping and repeating the process.
Is it all for nothing?

This summer, I’m trying to build up the habit of waking up early and while I was able to wake up earlier, a thought occurred to me. What am I going to do now? I found myself browsing the Internet and watching those oddly satisfying videos. Some of them were mechanical and it got me thinking. Confession made: this poem was inspired by oddly satisfying videos. What gives! Watch them, you’ll feel oddly relaxed.

After watching those videos, I had another thought to me. We built machines to make things perfect for us. An engineer programmed the robotics and then a mechanic put them together. Before that, someone thought of a product to run through the machines. A CEO probably owns a company and there are many other managers who handle things. Someone definitely built the buildings that houses all the machines and products and there are most likely workers who do the final packing and surveying. And then, someone picked up a camera and decided to film it and viola, it made it to an oddly satisfying video compilation.

This poem is supposed to have an air of irony because of all the commodities we’re invested in, even the videos we watch to satisfy ourselves or make us laugh or cry. Everything just feels so automatic and monotonous, like there’s no differentiation from another day. And my main point with this poem is to recognize the automation and make some changes. There’s nothing wrong with it, but if everything is done routinely, what would distinguish us from robotics?

I’ll leave you with this question, Money can’t buy happiness, right?

Thanks for reading!


Alternative | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone!

I come to you with a poem! Hope you like it!


Instead of staring down at the dimly lit screen
with notifications flying by and
too bright smiles and too put together outfits and
clickbait or not clickbait
Inhale the air no matter the smog or the crispness
give your lungs validation that they
are fulfilling the reason for their creation.

“I must escape” you protest.
“It’s a way to keep connected.” you say as you enter your fourth hour of
s c r o l l i n g.
“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you say
like a bitch.
“Everyone has phones. “ you curtly say. “It’s the norm now.”
like a bitch.

And here we go with crumpled smiles and dead batteries
forced admiration of passing scenery when all you can think about
a breeze brushes your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear
just like how you do it
and you look up and see
the horizon.

Like a line drawn definitely into the soil,
it separates the boundaries of heaven and Earth
where you know what one is like
with delectable foods and vast emotions
and the other is full of desires and safety
What if a little bit of heaven dripped down to Earth,
but you were too “busy” to even

Instead of rapidly messaging your friend
despite one sitting in front of you
or watching the 176th video, letting your eyes blur
and mind mush or
checking with the trends and making sure
you are on par, eyebrows and all,
try validating your mental capacity and physicality
that you are not going to be immersed in an alternative
seeking for reality anymore.

I wrote a poem similar to this a while ago, but that was about phones and how it’s inevitable that we use it. This poem is similar since it’s about technology, but it’s a more blunt attack on it. I was inspired to write this piece because now that I’m done with my first summer class, I’ve been spending my days watching little kids trip and beauty gurus talk about eyelashes and the next thing I know, it’s time to go to bed. While I don’t think phones and laptops are bad because they’ve opened different communities and opportunities, but if you find yourself escaping too much on it, then that’s when it becomes a bad thing.

There are different “stages” of this poem. The first and last stanza mirror each other with the driving message of Instead of and the last line being the solution. The second stanza is structured like a conversation you would have with someone you know who uses their phone or laptop way too much. Their rebuttal and what you may think is followed after. There’s a heavy air of it’s just a bunch of bullshit happening in that stanza.

And the following stanza is about when that someone finally puts their phone down and nothing else seems enjoyable to them. It’s just not as stimulating as what was easily accessible. Until they give it a little more time and they really start to see the Earth as it is. Now, the fourth stanza is a step back, like a narrator retelling the exposition again and accusing the reader, setting up the scene for the final stanza. What if little bit of heaven dripped down to Earth, but you were too “busy” to even notice?

At the end of the poem, I really want to drive home the message that you aren’t doing yourself any good even if you’re watching TED talks or cooking videos or reading articles or even learning code online if you don’t go out and apply it. Apply that motivation that you picked up from the TED talk. Make that delicious looking dish. Protest something you don’t agree with or write your own opinion. Use that code to build an app or design a website.

Do something and then you’ll find that conquering the world isn’t as hard as you thought.


PS. Happy June! I’m currently in NYC. 🙂

It’s Destiny | Poetry Breakdown


I hope all has been well for you!

It’s Destiny

It’s Destiny
Old ladies sit on the paint-peeling porch,
smoke emerging from their rosy lips
followed by the whispers of
what once was
what will be
and what is.
They see all like the Fates
with their darting eyes.
All I can do is duck my head and hope
they don’t unravel my secrets.

A young lady sits on the marbled floor
blood dripping from her fingers,
not a trace of remorse on her face.
Out the window she smells traces of her
something that resembles her mother’s cooking
and tears begin to flow
as her fingers trace 911.

A musician waltzes with himself down the streets
of the damp morning,
oboes and cellos taking his hand
and the timpani grace each step he takes.
All night he spent scribbling down calculations necessary to send a man to moon
only until he plays his jam
did he realize that he rather be the one
going to the moon.

A wise professor quietly steps into his bedroom
only to find the haunting silhouette of another man caressing his wife’s cheek
like he did on their wedding day.
Shocked, he found himself.
Chocking, he grasped his throat.
Collapsing, he met the floor.
A singular thought escaped through his lips
“Of all the questions I’ve answered in classes,
nothing in my studies has prepared me for this.”

I wake at the sound of my alarm
and peer out the window, the cracking of dawn
just appearing over the horizon — a smiling world.
My soul had been sobbing and weeping endlessly,
but I suppose it’s destiny that I find the courage
to embrace the opening dawn.

One of my good friends told me to put 100% into my writing, so here’s a nod to that – highly creative and full of imagery, a little shocking, but with good intentions. I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Basically this poem is about embracing life from the complexities, complications to the simplest notions. I start with old ladies because when I was walking back to my place, I saw that these old ladies were always out on their porch. I found it peculiar because it was a college neighborhood where everyone is a college student or of that age, so it’s quite a sight when you see someone who isn’t your age or the professor’s age. I also thought that they would be the best fit to represent wisdom and experience.

From there, I describe a crazy incident (not going to say what, so use your imagination) and the lady turning herself in, a student who realizes what he wants to do and then a professor who got his heart broken in the worst way possible. All these scenarios have more to them obviously such as whether or not the lady was forced to cause the crazy incident or if the relationship between the professor and his wife was strained. There’s a bizarre sense of liberation and loss of control at the same time.

Finally, a connection to the reader and I do this by using I. You can be that I or it could just be me talking to you. It’s up to you and how you interpret it. Dawn represents the start of something new and fully embracing it. Changes are imminent, but you just need to adapt to them.

Thanks for reading!


Concerto | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone,

I hope you’re doing well.


We draw our bows across the strings
and the cadenza echoes through the hall.
Silence falls.
One breath.
And applause.

I stand to take a bow among my teammates
like we have conquered something within ourselves,
presenting it for you to see.
The weight on my shoulder melts off
and all the sudden, the griping pains of rehearsal
fade into joy.

Winding corridors.
Bright lights and unfamiliar faces, but
not you
not here
not yet.
Crinkling flowers
Hugs and kisses
Selfies and congratulations
The latest gossip and if that guy who played the bass was hot.

There’s this loneliness after a concert
as I rejoin the regular, brandishing my weapon of choice
looking for the hero I saved through my persistent hard work.
There you are, beaming.
And my soul can finally rest.

I wrote this piece in honor of my concert that took place on Tuesday. If you didn’t know, I’m also a musician and I mainly play the violin. I’ve been playing the violin since I was in third grade, so about 13 years now and in college, I play the violin for the Symphony Orchestra which is amazing. There have been several times where I’ve teared up simply from the beauty of the music. So, I like to write about my musical experiences, but oftentimes I find that they’re indescribable.

After my concert on Tuesday, I was leaving the stage and felt this flood of loneliness which is odd because I should feel a sense of accomplishment. After a lot of thinking while meandering through the crowd, I came to the conclusion that throughout my musical career, I always had to wait for my loved ones after a concert. In high school, there would be some concerts that my parents couldn’t make so I would leave by myself. Sometimes parents would burst into the “waiting room” with flowers and collect their child, exclaiming “Great job! We’re so proud of you!” All around me, people would be talking and I would kind of be silent. I didn’t really have many friends and I typically kept to myself. I think I got used having to wait, but it doesn’t help that I see this celebration around me. Would I say that I’m jealous? Of course.

It’s a really bizarre feeling. From the adrenaline high of performing with the high concentration to make sure you don’t mess up to a strange sense of feeling lost in a building that you’re so familiar with — like everyone and everything became strange to you. Only until you see your parents or friends light up as they finally find you, the sense of accomplishment comes. Am I the only one to experience this? I don’t really enjoy this feeling because it really throws me off. I guess I won’t ever forget those lonely feelings, but I will always also remember those feelings when I was presented with flowers, asked for a picture and complimented. That embarrassing feeling is a good one.

Well, I wrote that poem about that confusing emotion and hopefully I’ve captured it and that you can somewhat relate as well.

Thanks for reading!