while writing my speech for a class, i realized something about myself. i was always stuck in the middle. growing up in the philippines, i was too korean to fit it with the filipinos, but i was too filipino to fit in with the koreans. i was never really thin or fat. i was sure and unsure about everything all the time. i never completely found a middle, comfortable ground to stand on. i thought i had a happy place, but i realized i didn't. i was always too lost in my thoughts to make one. i wanna learn how to be comfortable in some place. some happy place where i can rest my head, because my anxiety is not letting me sleep. i wanna learn to be comfortable in my grey zone. i want that to be my happy place. i just dont know how, which i think is a good thing. not knowing can lead to more, deeper answers. i just wish i know when im going to find it.

A friend once told a girl I liked that I was obsessed with death
and I yelled and screamed as I denied it but it must have
too much for her as she walked away and never talked to me again
that night I punched the wall till my hand bled
it was that or the knife
that’s a lie I never cut myself why would I write that?
I was probably looking for attention that’s what they say isn’t it
it’s only for attention not because I don’t know how to feel
or how to deal with my emotions not because
I can’t talk to my friends
I’ll never say how much it hurts and so they’ll never know
Sometimes they do know though and they ask and I lie
Saying everything is fine when I just wait for them
to go so I can cry
but I’m just looking for attention so what do I know
now I wonder if my friend was right
the day he told a girl I liked that
I was obsessed with death truth be told
the thought of death does bring me comfort
Not suicide gods no but the idea of an
eternal sleep free of anxiety or emotions
to trouble me does seem quite tempting
and now I write poems about my emotions
trying to put into words what I don’t understand
and hoping someone relates
truth is I never liked that girl all that much
and my heart is dead but not quite
and life is grand I mean horrible and  
love is everything but also a lie and this poem
is like my mind:
a chaotic cacophony of thoughts and feelings all mixed into one.

interlocking Complex(cities)
a fortunate mixed complexion
comprising of liberating schemes.
the unnatural routine
followed by beings with hindered genes
i see them upload themselves in a virtual scene.
i look up to them, twice
binocular vision
remix the visuals with binaural beats
to keep me levitating
before breaking into a fragmented
piece.
they’ve preached their nuisance to me
i’ve definitely caught an anomaly
i’ve heard them fabricating speech into something humble and noble
i’ll wait till it’s my turn to be
insidious
i’ll spit radiation like Chernobyl
to obliterate the ever growing regime.
molecular regain
they speak up to my senses
to attain the consent of the
eternal and beyond
with an upright movement
momentum i gain
from forthcoming sonder
while wandering down to the streets
you’re listening to city dreams
lean back, chime in
with psychedelic scenes
peripheral context
sidetracked to prevent hindrance
from the beings that are of obscene nature
i’ve seen a lot of those
nurturing themselves
by ******* onto the future
still stuck up on the yet coming past
trying to get grips on the titular concept
there’s authority with the ones who kept it flowing
rugged strength no guffawing
headed straight to the delirious ends of the rope
always falling but never out of hope
the stream that quenches the guilt of those
showing up with guns just to pinch a loaf
exterior combats
come back to the present
im here to steal the philosopher’s stone
getting ****** just to soar
above the stratosphere
i went straight out of the blue sphere
where i got to see the blues that fill up the majority of the crust
****** back to my grounds
the velocity burned my rust
thats a leap higher than the nukes
you trust
get to my location
ask the Everest where im at
it’ll point up to me and i’ll wave back
but there’s a truth thats yet to be told
i held the meeting of gods that weren’t sold
nobody showed up
neither the young nor the old
except avowed fakes that claim to be woke

i am tired.
tired of life, i guess.
every day seems to drag on, page by page.
i am slowly withering away.
i don't even pretend anymore, because pretending is exhausting
and i don't have the energy.
i think i want to die but really, i just want to live again.
i am worried about myself.
i am worried about where i am going.
i just need help.
i just need someone..

i am tired.
and i wish it would just go away.

I’m really sad

and I don’t know if it’s because
of the world?
or if it’s all the natural disasters?
or if it’s just my head?
or if it’s because of this pandemic?
or if my meds are off?
or if it’s because they keep canceling everything that keeps me motivated to stay alive?

I don’t know why I’m sad?
I know one day I am going to look back and miss this part of my life..

yet I can’t enjoy it in the moment.
so I live my life hating myself for being sad when I have so much to be happy about.

then I get more depressed because I know I’m going to be sad in five years when I remember that I didn’t fully enjoy all of the good things in my life,
because I was too busy hating myself for
being so sad.

I know I will look back and remember how my head was filled with dark storm clouds and the stupid forecast told me that those clouds are staying for awhile..

all this rain from the clouds
tears from my eyes
make it hard to see clearly.
I can’t get this bad weather to clear up.

I cry a lot.
I’m just sad.
I’m just really sad.

Why is this boy acting like I'm interested?
Persistent like I'm playing hard to get
I'm happily in love, I'm committed
Does this boy thinks he is actually a threat?
He has someone and still wants another
She's a keeper, when its over, he'll regret
No thank you, not a chance, goodbye lover
Bid you adieu, cant take this girl into your bed

We spend our days watching, by the hour,
The Kardashians in their ivory tower

Fifty-one million one can make,
And yet from the poor we continue to take.

With another tape, they could make more
Here men are, paying, preaching; “she’s a *****!”

Punter, performer; why is only one disallowed?
Sexes sin equally; Mz Davidson would be so proud

But a role model she is! Some also bark.
What about Wu Zetian, Zenobia, Joan of Arc?

They are lost, not as important as ingot
Instead we’ll recall Weinstein, bigot.

Stories of their tweets dominate the BBC
But where is the plight of the LEDC?