WHAT TO DO WHEN THE DARK STARTS CALLING

I thawed, didn’t I?

Like winter ice in spring, 

Mountain run-off streaming into brooks and rivers. 

I felt the warmth of life—

Blossoms bloomed crimson violet vibrant blues. 

The sun was on my heart; I felt it melt, felt it give. 

Yet now, I stand staring into nothing searching for something; 

I stare at the placid blue surface around me, 

Not a ripple in sight.

This isn’t stoicism, 

This isn’t strength. 

This is calcifying into marble, is dying 

With your eyes wide open, 

Is stranding yourself on a lonesome little island and thinking it might

       not be so bad after all, disappearing.

I thawed, yes, but now 

I think all that was keeping me from sinking was the permafrost 

And now, that’s gone, too. 

(remind me: how did I ever mistake disappearing for flying?)  

-

—Spring Melt (y.c.)

Everything feels the same, now. 

That is to say, 

Everything feels like coming to life. 

That is to say, everything

Feels like dying anew. 

.

—resurrection (y.c.)

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.)

Who Decides?

Who decides what is right and what is wrong? Is it us— our hearts, our beliefs? Is it society— feeding us lies and truth in equal measure our whole lives? Or is it nature— the ever-present, slow-changing world we grow to love? Besides, who are we to choose? Right doesn’t come as pure white. Wrong doesn’t appear as stark black. Shades of grey dominate our world, and everyone is trying to decide which shades are worse than others. Our whole lives are founded on what we believe in our hearts. In that way, no one is a villain. Everyone is only trying to make their way in a world where good and evil are undefinable.

So don’t be so quick to judge. Battles are rarely fought in plain sight of others; rather, they occur in our hearts and souls and we wear our scars like trophies. Time and time again, we fight for the good in us. We fight to meet our own goals, to conquer our own worlds and fears and insecurities. Because demons will always lose to angels, if you put your mind to it. After all, without angels, demons would exist. And without demons, angels would have no meaning.

Forest path

We are home.

No, we are not all in the same house

the same city

No, we don’t all go home to peace

but we are home.

Words cannot abandon us

Hope cannot fade so long as we keep

Holding

On

so

Hold

On

Home isn’t always where the heart is

Sometimes

All it is

is a pen

paper

poems

But it doesn’t matter

Home is what you make it even when you’re not

making it so

take a deep breath

Look around you.

No matter where you are now

One day, I promise you:

We will be home.

— y.c.

Love and despair are drawn from the same well.

I cannot always tell which is the poison,

And which is the cure.

— y.c.

Quiet

She was quiet

        But not in a nice way

She was the silent storm

        The blow that came out of nowhere

        The one you never saw coming

She’s been through hell you can’t even imagine

        Her scars are a shield

        Her words are weapons

She can’t be controlled

        Tamed

She is the wild wind

        The rebel without a cause

        The broken fallen angel

She’s beautiful like an ocean in a tempest

        Like a phoenix rising from the ashes

She walks in the wake of battle and turns her head to the blood-red sky 

        And smiles.

She is quiet

        Not in a nice way

She is quiet the way 

        Lightning

Makes no sounds before it

        Strikes       

— Yushan C.