Everything Feels The Same, Now. 

Hey y’all!

I’m absolutely terrible at posting things regularly, so a massive thank you to everyone who’s following me and bearing with my non-existent planning skills. I’ll try to post one a month at least from now on, but no promises cuz uni is crazy like that.

I’ve gotten published in a few places since I last posted, and I’ll link them below! It’s super exciting, and I hope you enjoy the poems.

amaranthine

Indigo

the ghosts in my home still haunt me

(there are also poems in InkMovement’s Edmonton Youth Anthology, Vol I, but they only print in paper so I can’t put the link here)

I became so much more delicate

when I was with you—

in body

in spirit

Some days,

a strong gust of wind could’ve scattered me

over the globe

like ashes in an ocean

You taped HANDLE WITH CARE on me and

ignored your own warning

And when I was shattered on the floor,

when I was left sewing together

what was left of my soul

Without you,

That’s when I woke up

and finally realized how much better I am

Without you

So t h a n k y o u

for teaching me

I don’t need anyone but

Me

— Yushan C.

I think we’re all broken, 

you whisper to the dark shimmering water lapping against the hull. 

I can see our reflections—

You, halved in white and 

Me, fading to black like an old film reel. 

Broken how? 

I don’t really need you to answer, not really. We’re cursed,

I know and you know, too, so you just laugh. 

Even that sounds like shattering glass. 

What is it about stars and streetlights and silent European nights 

          that tear us open to the core?

Cursed, you whisper, 

And suddenly thousands of years worth of history and ghosts and 

          fiends are clamouring for release beneath 

The liquid obsidian rocking the boat. 

Cursed, I whisper, but remind me:

Aren’t curses simply blessings from below?

.

— Cruise on the Danube (y.c.)

A friend of mine wants flowers for her room, she says. 

She wants to make it beautiful and vibrant and fresh, but

Blossoms fade and petals mold, she says,

Clutching her falsified flowers, 

Petals carefully crafted—

A forgery,

hundreds of days in the making in factories where they make 

          hundreds of petals that never die.

Immortality is the prize, beauty a side effect, and yet

How many of us choose both as a goal?

-

—Immortality comes with plastic petals (y.c.)

You wanted a love story and this

isn’t 

it. 

You say you’re going through trials by fire 

but these are not the flames 

that birth phoenix

these are the flames that destroy forests so

Put it out.

He she they aren’t worth the 

Destruction 

of your soul;

Darling, 

You wanted a love story and listen to me. 

This

isn’t 

it. 

.

—Why do we mistake destruction for creation? (y.c.)

There is beauty 

in the silence, in the stillness, in the gone-ness.

In the dripping water casting ripples in puddle—

who is left to see it?

In the soundless streets—

who is left to hear it?

-

There is beauty

in the empty, in the quiet, in the ghosts.

In the burning lights, haloes silver and rose—

who is left to see?

In the winding roads, snow pristine and clear—

who is left?

-

There is beauty 

in the dark, in the soft, in the peace. 

Silence is a commodity rarely found and never sought, 

An extinct creature killed by advancing times. 

There is beauty in its return; 

There is beauty in its resurrection.

-

(who is left to hear?)

-

—beauty in a time of mourning (y.c.)

Sometimes forgiveness is swallowing a match, 

          swallowing ten. 

Your veins ignite like gasoline-soaked wood 

(are your doubts the gasoline or your convictions?)

(does it matter?)

.

Sometimes it’s a bit like suffocating,

Water rushing in through your nose and you’re

Drowning 

(are your memories the water or your dreams?)

(does it matter?)

.

—y.c.

Ver • ti • go

(noun)

1. Standing on a rooftop with you and your

daredevil smirk and unfaltering gaze; the

warmth of your hand as you took mine,

joy turning my world to a dizzying

kaleidoscope of scents and colours

2. Standing in an empty flat with pieces of you

and me scattered on the floor; feeling that

chasm opening inside me and knowing your

wouldn’t be here to catch me, not this time

(—Yushan C.)