I Think Of You

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I think of you often
I think of how happiness rolls off your lips
like it belongs there
like a tumbleweed freely in the desert

Did you know happiness looks great on you?

I think of you often
I think of the way my name rolls off your tongue
like a bow smoothing a harp
like a peacock’s tail blooming to greet the sun

I think of you often
I think of the way your short build still finds a way
like a stonecrop shattering hard circumstances
like a vine reaching no limits; the rose and the concrete

Did you know the oppressed always rise?

I think of you often
I think of the way your neck elongates
like fingers giving life to a limped dummy
like hands rising in the sanctuary

I think of you often
I think of the way rhythm roll ’round your hips
like chocolate snaking down the fountain
like music that attention always finds

Did you know you’re an addiction good for men?

I think of you often
I think of the way warmth waits in your embrace.
like ocean waves growing, rolling, sinking
like a crying baby calming in a mother’s arm.


Here’s a song:

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I’m Only 25, and

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I still think I can conquer the world

the world has told me I will lose it all;
my flare will meet cold water
my spark will short-circuit
my energy will emit smoke

they say I’m only 25

so I am a child and I don’t know
the desire to live while your closest companion pleads,
“yes that is a very wise decision, but…”
I will not be saying the same in my 30s

I’m only 25 and I think I’m behind

but those marks stretch to tell me this is the perfect time to do what I’m doing
a few decades ahead have told me they recently stepped into my shoes
the looks in their eyes envy my idea; the risks I took
how did you know to do that; at this perfect time; at this age?

I’m only 25, and the world is surprised that I will conquer it.


Enjoy this picture of me at Jewel during my trip to SINGPORE last week!

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Dead Dreams

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There’s a graveyard in my house.
Dreams in the tears on my pillow;
Dead Dreams of long ago, on my pillow.

Shaking fingers
Chasing strangers
Until,
A trumpet is blown,
A grave is owned

Tear drop.

There are Dead Dreams in my house.
Dreams that have Passed way too long ago
To be Resurrected.

I ponder to myself,
Shovel after shovel:
“I could have held tighter;
It could have lived longer.”

Dead Dreams in my soul
A graveyard on my heart
Crosses, tombstones rising out of my chest.
When I’m sad, I wonder if it is because
There are too many Dead Dreams?
When I’m happy, I wonder if it is because
There are too many spirits?

Dead Dreams in my vessel
Dead Dreams in my house.
My steps are never gentle
For I travel with force

They’re trying to pull me under.


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Adults in a Playground (YouTube Video)

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Adults in a Playground” is a piece about adults giving up their freedom, their “childhood”, to succumb to a mechanic, unwanted lifestyle and thus becoming hardened.

Click here, or click above, to watch the video for Adults in a Playground. Click here to read the poem, “Adults in a Playground”.

Adults In a Playground: https://sircharlesthepoet.wordpress.com/2022/07/04/adults-in-a-playground/

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Advancing Years – Written Monday 25th July 2022 (Aged 47) — The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing

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i cannot stop advancing years the ones, where the light starts to dim or fade and shine less bright

Advancing Years – Written Monday 25th July 2022 (Aged 47) — The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing

What an incredible piece!!! I love the humor, wit, and relatability in this poem.

A Friend Named Patience

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Patience is a strange thing
you have to wait.
Cause Patience, is a strange thing

Patience is a strange thing
you remain and,
→ you remain and,
→ you remain and
you wait.

As the world goes by;
possibilities troll away;
chances drift at bay;
what should be, becomes
what would be, turns to
what could be

but you never know.

Patience is a strange thing
as time waits for no man,
men wait for time to bring:
an unknown, claimed to be known
an unknown that only Hope would claim
to know.

As you wait with patience,
it soon takes the city bus
to the sunset…
…until it runs short.

Patience is a strange thing
so coil your body.
Do it!
I know you want to
“something to pass the time”
humans evolved not, to be idle

yet, here you are.

Waiting in this abyss
all the possibilities to miss
ignoring that something’s amiss

Patience is a strange thing
sometimes, I just wanna give in,
go about my way.
Sometimes, I will put an extra second

but then I always see Patience,
a cunning fool just being,
on the train downtown,
on the bus going, and thinning.


I wrote this piece as a class assignment in my final year in University, in 2019. It is both one of my bests and one of my favorite pieces. Reading it always leaves a smirk on my face.

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A Song To Last

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I pray.
For endurance in this brutal road
strength and patience; wisdom and guidance;

if it’s to crawl—
crawl until your nails choose the Earth,
until you fly to the emperors of the sky

I pray.
That you do not pray, beg or bargain
for a different ending

what’s to be, will be
you’re armored for your destiny—
endure your journey.


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Trapped

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to fly is to have no limits
to dream is to have no limits
to exist, is to have no limits

anger and frustration withholding satisfaction
as the iron chamber closes
and tightens to an inch of breath

scream and scream, “away with death!”
scream for breathing’s sake
dream for living is at stake

freedom oozes out of the ears
like a life evaporating
leaving behind intentions, and tears

dreaming so much
hoping everything is such
but somehow the soul is trapped

imagination is under invasion
filtrated by these dusty gust of wind
falling through gaps between grains of sand

nothing brings freedom.
trapped inside your screaming voice
why dream when reality is surreal


I hope you’re able to find freedom to live your dreams.

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“Judgment” — “Introspection Resurrection”

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An Incredible piece with a wonderful message!

I used to, on occasion, perceive others’ dark as a mendacious mode of false endearments they could put on a performative spectacle to lure passive onlookers like a siren’s song – I see now I see now peoples’ pain I see now how detractors bathe their reality in shame. – I see now the drugs […]

“Judgment” — “Introspection Resurrection”

Our Angels

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somewhere in someone’s mind,
“you’re not meant to be elevated
you are to estrange yourself from your glory”

but Our Angels make your worth a choir
that sings in the confidence of your smile
a genuine belief of being what is aimed for

so much could be done without You
but it is easier finding courage under a sun
rising upon the face of hopeless solitude, dedication

water in the pot, You are, to the withered spirit
we tell stories about reaching a dream we share
eventually noticing You are the dream we sought


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