fran the nan, not so bland



Francine Silverman was a pretty little lass,
with a button little nose and a red tangled mess.
Francine was as happy as happy could be,
right until she hit puberty.

One morning she awoke to a spotted invasion,
dots and spots
forming ugly constellations.
The red was no longer restricted to her head-
a plain fact that now filled her with dread.

Francine was then christened with several new names-
many that were taunting and gave her unwanted fame.
Francine was strong and simply shrugged it off,
no one knew what she hid behind her laugh.

Cruel words, however, broke her fragile little wall,
She could take it no longer; she began to fall.

The very next day,
a new spot stained her bed-
one that went
right through her head.

a future thought



Oh darling take us back to the summer days
where breezes play in our hair
Where we'd stuff our mouths with crumbly cookies
and danced and sang and laughed and cried without a care in the world

I tell you it is indeed a tremendously terrible tragedy
to be in a place where you thought you had solace
but yet be unable to call it a home.

Night darkness in sight and I feel my lips
shape themselves into a deep parentheses.
I am happy, I think.
I look forward to the future with a mixed sense of trepidation and anticipation.
I know not of what is yet to occur, and yet I bask in the uncertainty of it.
I have dreams and things I want to do and feel and experience
and I thank God that I have parents who are understanding.

It took awhile and a fair bit of observation to understand
that I am a drifter-
mainly in social conventions, and perhaps-
in future occupations as well.
I have no fixed home and yet am able to find
what i need in areas I wander and seek.

What will become of me?
Here I am plotting my romanticized future in my head
and yet I could be dead tomorrow.

Oh! The beauty in uncertainty.

dearest- always once and forevermore


I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you. -Shinji Moon
Dearest,

I want you to know that it is okay to find something sad and lovely at the same time.
I want you to know that you should not fear Death,
but embrace him because Death is a friend-
a mere companion to ease your lonesome journey across
the bridge to the other side.
I want you to know I care deeply for you
and I will write you as many wordy letters oozing with words of adoration
because I know even the tiniest, kindest words will crack a smile on your thin lips-
albeit the headstrong, different person you are.

I want you to know that I will never give you flowers,
even after you die,
because I know how much it pains you to see
something lovely picked to die
for the temporary appreciation by another.

Most of all, I want you to grow and be happy.
I want you to learn to embrace your flaws endearingly-
all the noticable dents and creases that streak and damage your once smooth complexion
but never once leaving a scar on your personality.

I want you to feel what I feel.
I want you to grow to love the person I fell shamelessly for.

state of the union



I feel the sudden need to immerse myself in Christmas and all its good feels
and to truly embrace the social aspect of consumerism and all the supposedly 'feel good' 
things the world has to offer. 

I want the glorious scent of gingerbread wafting through the air,
tempting me to reward my palates with its oh so yummy flavour.
I want to see snow.
I want to crane my head back and watch 
each individual piece with its personal mark and pattern
fall lazily from the sky
and ever so sway effortlessly with the gentle breeze of the cool air.
I want to face my palm skywards and wait for one of the delicate pieces
to fall onto my hand and melt upon touch-
as though I am destructive with everything I come in contact with.
I want to hear Mr. Bublé crone me happy holiday tunes with that
deep mellow voice of his
and I want to feel giddy and nice and just plain non-thinking and worrying
as I stroll down the streets and visually absorb all the
red and white paraphernalia the stores have on display
to entice customers to spend their money.

On a side note,
it has been two days since my return and
I am thankfully recovering from my disorientation.
I suppose being back in the comfort of my yellow chair
makes me miss the busyness of the street
where you'd walk for miles
and mingle with the thousands of other worry bodies
who you'll never know the full stories of.

My yearning to work in a place where I can make people happy
may have stemmed from the surprising desires of kindness
I have hidden and rooted deep in me.

I feel a bit lost at the moment,
and I wish to drown myself in the good Christmas vibes this year.
I hope the Christmas of the year of the previous' will not repeat itself.

I wish you well and I congratulate you on your survival.