On Lyrics & Prose
A blend of lyrical essays and prose poems, fiction and non-fiction.
A collection of bite-sized soul pieces I am leaving behind.
thoughts.
i’m up before skin and bones are rebuilt. awake.
i often enjoy being alone, but when a friend reminds me of a joke we made months ago, takes note of what i can and can’t eat, looks me in the eyes and slows down to listen, i remember that sometimes, there’s no better feeling than being seen.
moving to a new place made me realizei enjoy being lost more than walking the same route with the same scenerymaybe the same can be said about my life
i’m stuck thinking in contradictions, flipping the cube of my life around in my hands, looking for perspectives i haven’t yet seen.
i’m like an archeologist digging layers into of myself, occasionally making discoveries
writing is almost like exploring a house inside me — i don’t know whether or not i want to open all the doors i encounter.
as one
6 Sept 2026
the vitruvian man.
two flames, a woven basket.
to carry, to hold
till life do us part
skin upon skin,
cushions dented,
fabric shifting.
weight.
one does not start,
one does not end.
as one.
human beings, not human doings
31 Aug 2026
my friend once told me she loved taking care of herself, almost more than she loved working.
“we’re human beings, not human doings.”
she said this to me once — after she saw the slump in my shoulders, the darkness under my eyes, the sluggishness in my arms when i drank my third cup of coffee.
i raised my drooped eyes and met her star-filled ones, and something in me clicked.
i suddenly became aware of where we were. the space filled with people whose inner lives i’ve barely scratched the surface of. my friend who has witnessed my becoming and undoing. the cold sweat of the drink underneath my fingertips. my breath. a deep sigh.
how have i worked tirelessly for something i don’t even love?
how strange it is, that what we call choice was already decided for us.
i want to be a leaf
27 Aug 2026
big. small.
soft. rubbery.
spiked. rounded.
green. red.
i want to sprout from a seed and absorb the sun.
i want to dance and shiver in the wind.
i want to float down and down and melt into the soil below.
the intersecting veins of a leaf like the veins underneath my skin.
the breath to take is the breath i take now.
i want to shake away life’s troubles like a deer does after a fright.
i want to be consumed by the earth.
i want to be a leaf.
scorned
11 Apr 2026
a woman scorned—
seared into memory,
the putrid breath of betrayal,
vile words spilling from once-trusted lips.
she begins the cleanse.
droplets pound onto her back like a downpour.
roaring rain almost deafening the turmoil within.
almost.
her hands find the lavender bottle — a familiar respite.
scrub. scrub. scrub.
hot steam rises,
white fills her vision.
scrub. scrub. scrub.
a blur wavers at the corner of her eye,
gone with a blink.
scrub. scrub. scrub.
a sourness emerges from the lavender,
the horrid stench sneaks into her mind.
scrub. scrub. scrub.
she scrubs harder, as if it could erase history.
and eventually… she relents.
skin burning,
peeled back from the violation,
rubbed raw past comfort.
she breathes.
as the water quiets into a drip. drip. drip.
a thought—no, a feeling—creeps in.
not hers.
a knowing.
they watch through her eyes.