True Love

You wake me,

And I wake you,

Deep down we both know,

That we were meant to be,

We can stop at the “friend” title,

That we give ourselves,

Because we both know,

We are closer now,

To each other,

Day and night,

I know,

That love is the answer,

But I can’t bring myself to say it,

Not when you’re around.

~For all those who can’t love who they want to love~


Chemistry has bridged my interest with ingredients,

And finally I know what Carbonate is made of,

What baking soda’s formula is,

I can guess some ingredients,

To some extent,

Sodium is Na,

Calcium is Ca,

Cobalt is Co,

and Beryllium is Be.

It’d write formulas all day,

Balance the numbers,

See the combos come alive.


Response to “On the Future of Poetry”

The poem sounds depressing,

Or perhaps desperate,

Hardly lively in my opinion,

Maybe I’m taking it too harshly,

Thinking that the old is better,

Blank verse is better,

Rhyme schemes and meanings are better than what I can do!

These are my verses,

My words,

My blank verse even though it doesn’t beat,

The future of poetry,

Is changing.


I hate myself,


I wonder what my purpose is,

Why was I even made?

Who am I supposed to be?

What am I supposed to do?

And yet, I’m dissatisfied.

My standards are high,

Because I can try that much,

At least let me do my ‘best’,

If there is any standard at all,

Someone say something.

Try Harder

Everyone says try your best,

But really what is your best?

Is it slaving under low-light all night for a week,

Trying to finish whatever work/school/fun/other assignment?

I highly doubt so,

There are no standards for “best”,

All we do is try,

Does that mean it’s our best?

What if trying hard his considered too hard?

What is the standard for the best anyways?

Because I believe “the best” is simply a phrase that means: Try harder.

No matter how hard you try,

The best is only a phrase,

So, just try that should be enough.

The Homeless

The rain pounds hard,

The puddles form,

Along with the lines,

For hot food at,

Soup Kitchens,

The homeless struggle to survive,

In the wetness of Downtown Vancouver,

Canada is not a third-world country,

Yet there are the homeless,

The stink of weed,

And the constant number that keeps rising,


The wetness,

The constant rain,

Those looks that passerby give you,

Are horrible indeed,

Please help the homeless,

Provide some toiletries,

Food or blankets,

And you’ll make a day.