AzianPerzuazion

I like the streets at night.
Although my vision isn’t what it used to be.
Everything from afar is a blur.
Big things. Small things. Doesn’t matter.
They look all the same to me.
One giant picture in a black frame.
I am standing under a street light.
Breathing…
Reminiscing…
Fading…
Gazing at my past in one direction.
Foreseeing my future in another.

 

Anonymous asked: Dear AzianPerzuazion - you write a lot of poems that are full of pain, emotion, and anger. I can't help but wonder if a lot of them are about one person in particular. You don't need to say names if you don't want to (but I gather that the person doesn't have a tumblr, otherwise you probably wouldn't be posting poems about them), but what part did this person play in your life? Who was he/she and what did they do? I can connect to a lot of what you write, and I'm just intrigued.

To answer your question, yes and no. Initially my poems began from my frustration from one individual. He is a wonderful person to meet, I have no doubt. But I guess I felt like he was pulling me on a string and cutting me off without any warning. At the start it was great. We became best friends and bonded quite well. However, as time moved on, he became distant and disconnecting. I suppose if I could sum it up in one word it would be that I felt “abandon.” I guess I would feel better if I had that closure, but I guess I never had the chance. Surely, I am confident that I never will. But it is easier for me to let our friendship fade in the dark, then let it burn in the light. It doesn’t bother me as much anymore like it did in the past. After my experience last week, I just reformed my life and now, letting go of things that don’t matter isn’t hard anymore.

But in time my poems that I wrote took another direction. I tapped into the other side of myself that has been laying dormant for quite sometime. My poems, if read by someone else, would appear as if I am referring to a person in my life. Occasionally that is true, but most of the times I am referring to maybe a piece of my life, like a grudge I am holding on to or a memory I refuse to let go. Perhaps even some emotions I felt in my dark years.

I guess it is easier to convey my emotions when I am writing to an imaginary person. It just makes it simpler to let go my bottled emotions by saying it in a one-sided conversation. 

Hope that answers your question. 

Today it rained.
Normally, I am not quite fond of it.
But today, it was different.
The sound of the pitter-patter drops.
The clumps of water trickling down my skin.
The aroma of fresh air diffused into the atmosphere.
I felt cleanse
….and wet.

You remind me of a snake.
Your words are like poison to my ears.
Whispering words of broken promise.
Hissing tales of deceit.
Entangling me in your web of misconception.
And yet, I am still beside you.
Taking in all of the toxic you constantly spew out.
Corroding my insides and melting my bones.
Killing me painfully, and slowly.
It hurts.
Deeply.
More than you can ever imagine. 

A part of me wants to know if you’re okay.
But a part of me says, “Fuck you.”

Planning my last day in Boise!
Thrilled, I am.
Memorable, it will be. 

I am sitting here. Silent.
Collecting myself together.
Holding back the tears of you.
Biting my lip until it turns crimson red.
All that is coming to my mind is, “I’m sorry.”

I can still remember it.
Living in Vietnam.
Air was humid.
Heat was unbearable.
Skies were clear—not a trace of a cloud in sight.

You were there.
Taking care of me.
Smiling.
Siting right next to me.
I smiled back.
You were, of course, one of my favorite grandmas.

I was young.
Naive and witless.
Believing everything and anything.
I recalled your ‘magic’ trick you would play on me.
You tell me to close my eyes.
I see nothing, but hear the clanking sound of metal knocking on the glass.

You tell me to open my eyes.
What do I see?
A whirlpool.
My heart flutter and my eyes became bewitched.

I ask how such a thing could exist.
You didn’t say, or rather you couldn’t say.
Leaving me only the words—Magic.
Letting me believe there were monsters in the lake.
A house made out of candy.
And a grandma who could live to be a 100 year old.

10 years when by.

I can now see reality.
The whirlpool you made, a simple twirling of the spoon.
The monsters you spoke of, alligators in the lake.
The house you told me, your home.
And the grandma you talked about, passed away.

I am heartbroken.
A painting whose picture has been ripped out.
But the frame remains intact.

I have forgotten what you looked like.
The cozy hands you used to hug me with.
The immeasurable smile that radiates the night.
The lips that susurrate only love to my ears.

I miss you.

10 years have gone by.
Now, you are gone.
I am crying.

Sobbing. Regretting. Hoping. Wishing. Begging.

To see you one last time.
To say, “Grandma, I’m back.”
To whisper, “Grandma, I missed you.”
To tell you, “Grandma, I will always love you.”

I don’t want your hugs.
I don’t want to see your smiles.
I don’t want to hear your voice.
Leave me alone, once in awhile.
Perish from my thoughts
And disappear from my life.
I am cutting our threads’ with my bloody, dull knife.
You have given me more pain then happiness.
It was just my rotten luck.
So believe me when I say,
You Fucking Suck!