#spectaclesofliving

[spectacles-of-living]

do you realize how much you exist to me?

in silence and even amidst deafening fights or loud music blaring from the angry speakers — those sounds or the lack of 'em; always find their way to remind me of you. when my mind stops to overthink and allow my body to act on its nature, my hand grabs your favorite food, drinks your choices of drink, before i even catch myself doing it my entirety already pleads guilty like a thief confessing crimes in distinct subconsciousness. because even in my subconscious all i know; is you. you are what i am when i strip myself naked of wariness, you are what i am when i stop thinking of anything else.

it makes my insides churn, my body bolt in disgust or maybe pity... whenever i caught myself red-handed, thinking too much — so much of you. when i walk the pavements and leave a spot next to where i walk in case you'd want to walk beside me. hand in hand. because i never liked the idea of walking alone ever since i tasted your company, i never liked the idea of looking back only to see you walking side by side with someone else. i am never a fan of tip-toeing on your shadows, to stare at your back instead of the road—whenever you walked in front of me. not beside or behind me. i feel like i am always chasing after you. i feel like i can only afford the scenery of your back turned against me as if you're facing a life that i can never see since i tiptoe on your shadows.

you are what i am when i sit on a chair and i see you hovering close, i find myself achingly hopeful and making space beside me then secretly hope you'd take a seat by my side. you are what i am in the silence of the nights, the bittersweet smile and heartily laugh... they are pretty much everywhere, in every minute of every day, right? now you know that this is how much you exist to me; that all i am ceases to exist if you do.

lyvin

1085;

[spectacles-of-living]

honey, when all that's left of what i used to be are nothing less than piles and piles of ashes — i want you to scatter me on the air of the seaside i've always adored. like they do in the movies. to comfort my nothingness by saying that was perfect. when all that's left of what i used to be is the scent that lingers on my bed because if not out; all i did was sleep. i want you to take my blankets home with you. i want you to make my eulogy the song you've boasted about listening to every time you cradle yourself to sleep. so that even in your unconscious state, you will be reminded by the loss of me... or the lack of it. which, either, will hunt you like you're all-powerful to might've been able to change it. i guess what i'm trying to say is—grieve for me. grieve not for my loss but grieve for things you haven't done. grieve for things that could've been. and make up for it, make up for it like you can change anything — like you can turn back the clock. and in death, i will know; i will never get sick of seeing your despair in my deathbed. because that's what it means to love and leave me to die. know that it happens because you deserve it, the same way i thought i did.

: lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

Some days I wonder still, how big the world is and how small it seems to me and how much was mine to keep? It's like grasping straws, fooling myself that I master the fulfillment of knowing things, my identity, my etymology, the future: that the unknown will cease to exist because I can grasp 'em with my bare hands. Days I wake up convincing myself I am not just a particle of dust in a world so vast nothing really occupies any of it 'too much'. That I matter. Yet whenever I caught myself confused and desperately unknowing; the sand that rests on my hand left so quickly and hastily as I try to grasp 'em, to hold them still in the palm of my hands. The tighter my grasp to this reality, the faster it slips away through the spaces of my fingertips like sand. Leaving my hand empty, but with the memory that it once held something other than the absence and the deep, want and longing.

lyvin

is any of these mine to keep?

[spectacles-of-living]

materializing memories

i wish

memories will become more of a material

that can be tossed away

like dice on play

that can be tucked away

like handkerchiefs on a sunny day

i wish

it could be washed like clothes

can be rid of stains

such as forgetting the pains

cherishing its pretty plains

or the dazzling prints

i hope

that you wish for the very same thing

so that we can toss away

the painful memories

like overlooking an accident-prone signage

hoping to escape

pushing our luck

deluding ourselves that there's nothing behind our backs

despite knowing that if we don't look back

we'll lose sight of our track

i hope

that you wish for the very same thing

so that we can tuck away

or slid inside a safe

the memories we've been wanting to keep

as if to forget that we took a leap

fell deep

because of the words from our lips

denying our shortcomings

to see the sun rising from the deeps of the forest

despite knowing that life isn't all rainbows and cupcakes

we'd still dream of living off of our happy memories

and yet again

i hope that we share the same wish

if not, i fear to know

the depths of your concerns;

that memory is not a material

that we can hold onto

get rid of

or filter out

as if saying that those days are gone

we have to let go

we can't go back

we were happy

now we're not

and that's just that.

-

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

my independence from my dependence

la oscuridad,

has it been days, weeks, or is it already a month ever since the day i acknowledged it's over? i can't tell, losing track of time is all I know. There are days when life gets hard when I want to run away, I always see you. Once, during my toughest time, you took me in with no questions asked. No guilt drives. With no judging or pitying look in your eyes. You were the fresh breath of air I needed all the time, in the silence of the wretchedness, in between the deafening fights. You were a sanctuary I once visited but feared visiting again. I don't want to burden anyone and you're no exception. But sometimes when everything seems so dark and lonesome, I want to be as selfish as I truly am. And run to you, burden you to ease my loneliness. The feeling of being alone in the midst of all this chaos.

and today is one of those days. That's why I refrain from touching my phone. To hit you up. To be selfish. And I guess I succeeded. I got through the fight just fine, not unscathed but it's fine. I hated the idea of sharing my burden with someone just because I want to feel a lot more lightweight, to bother someone to suffer with me. Because that's what I am suffering from and doing that to someone... it's cruel, and I will not be of any difference from the people I hate. I don't want to be despised, but I guess just because I don't want it to happen—fate will follow smoothly. Of course not. But do you know how I got through today? I tried reliving the feeling of your warmth beside me and in an instant I knew you were there even when you're not.

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

It saddens me that you don't look for me in a crowd like how i am to you. It saddens me that you don't crave for my presence and familiarity like how i lose my sanity craving for yours even when I know that I shouldn't. But since i seem to fancy myself as an idiot and try to comfort my inner hopelessness—I say it doesn't really matter: I don't really think about it much and that it's childish. But honestly, I am childish. I think about it so much. Because I really want you to long for me and seek me in the sea of acquaintances, inhaling the air not only for the essence of breathing but in hopes of finding me through the scent of my unchanging perfume, to breathe me in.

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

i shoved the reality

at the corner of darkness

for i alone

was never brave enough

to face the dark

i put my pain

the melancholy

on your palms

knowing you are aware

made me calm

i bottled all the tears

to show everybody

how much it hurts

and how much i cried

i embraced your presence

allowed myself to be dependent

when all along i knew

it won't last for long

my heart, aching true

my mind, in chaos with the thoughts of you

and then i burned myself down

when i lost you

i wrapped myself with bandages

took painkillers

that only numbed me

for taking much too much

and yet here is the pain

lingering in my veins

yet here is the pain

breaking me into pieces

i thought i was saved

when you rose from nothingness

filling in all

the empty spaces

but you only break me

even more.

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

i've always felt the cliché 'me against the world' but i also always felt like i have someone to hold on to. people who wants me to stay and values my mere existence. and that made things more easier and later on i figured it wasn't so bad, after all. but i think all these time, all i ever did was to build a sand castle to shelter myself from the storm.

but apparently it's not resilient nor permanent.

the day it went crumbling down was today. i had to cover my eyes from the sun's blinding and ferocious light. it burns on my skin and it hurts my eyes, the moment i saw it—it's like being bathed with cold water, awakening the consciousness i forced to put on a sleep. but i guess we all have our own sand castles we fancy sheltering ourselves in—and a matter of time before we see it crumbling before our very own eyes. seeing the world with it's full burning and harsh light and we can't help but laugh at how naïve we were for thinking that everything was fine and okay.

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

to the ‘maker’ whom everyone claims to know:

i am a voyager. voyaging on my sea of wonders; i've managed to keep my boat floating without pleading to your name or worshipping your make-believe existence. i am a voyager who sailed by heart and not by duty, i've seen faces of people every time my boat meets the land, and i hear the people's voice every time my feet stand on solid ground. my wonders brought me doubts and gave me freedom, but the people's voice clouded with their judgment gave me nothing more than confusion and hatred.

to whom do they kneel and pray? to whom do they cry out and give praise? a stranger told me a story about “You”, his Maker but You, too, was a stranger. for years of living with the sea, allowing its waves to lead me somewhere where it believes i should be—it was the first time where i saw what humanity's image of sin is. they claim to love you and claim that you love them, too much, that You gave your life to them, and that You are love: itself.

but when they saw me leaving my boat, standing on the ground, showing reluctance at the mere mention of 'your' name—a stranger's name. then seeing me with someone who accompanied me while voyaging the sea... my sweetest desire and the woman who showed me freedom. i heard profanities, received anger, saw judgment, and hatred everywhere. then there they said we have sinned.

"Our Maker gave you his life and you give him sin in return?" from the crowd a voice asked.

sin—for i am a woman and i'm entwining hands with a woman as well? didn't a stranger also tell me you bless those who love? to you Maker, a foreigner to i: if you are true then forgive my doubts of reprise but i will ask no forgiveness for loving someone of a certain greatness.

i voyaged way too long that i saw Your people pointing out my sins while committing theirs, if you are love and you allow love—then how come i am sinning? if love is for people and we are no animal but people, how can love be not for us... how come finding it in each other's arms a sin?

i'll find comfort on the sea that i believe would wash away the remnants of their judgments: forcibly engraved on our skins and renew us with the belief that we are no sin... we are art, we are love, we are free.

[spectacles-of-living]

If you know me,

you'd understand the look in my eyes

you'd weep a thousand times

for it unmasked all the lies

seeing them swollen and dry

knowing the million pains

it has been trying to confide

If you know me,

you can fathom the depths of the agonies

like bloodstains on white sheets,

torn pages of books unkempt

and spilled whiskeys

determining that those were

the missing pieces of me

spilled, thrown and torn in somewhere

no one else would see

If you know me,

the earsplitting screams

and horrible cries

will become as insignificant

as birds humming every morning

insignificant as

raindrops hitting the roof

you will get used to it

like your routine during sad 3AM's

because you know me

but no, you do not know me

nor any she or he

can understand my swollen eyes

nor fathom my wrecked inner shelves

and bear with my cries

that is why looking at me

would be seeing something:

completely incomplete

wretchedly wrecked

since you don't know me

because if you do

you'll know

that these are the reasons

i call myself whole

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

What Should An Eye See?

did it happen to exist just to see the scenery?

the hues of orange during sunsets

the awe of blinding light during sunrise

or the cascade of water in the peace of the meadows?

for what you choose to see; the abundance of nature —

the success of mankind down the filthy street

the lights of the buildings in a busy town?

but when the truth lurks, you stare only at your feet?

take a glance, make sure to see the image of injustice —

plastered on the children's faces in the street

etched on the skin of sunburned workers

tattooed on the bruised skins of women!

take your chance, scrutinize your elected leaders —

can't you see how they kill a freeman like yourself?

you work for money that falls in their pockets:

aren't they supposed to be the ones feeding those with empty pockets?

what a jackass, an ignorant—you truly are!

how could you turn blind for your own side?

do you long to see the murders of innocents

killed as if they were not the real victims?

do you desire to turn blind whenever the truth waves a hand?

even if the fruit of your hardwork fills a corruptor's stomach?

and the streets are filled with your own freeman starving to death?

be not blind, you man, an eye can see the reality!

eradicate the injustice that had clung to anyone

be not a slave of your own devious kind!

no more injustice and cruelty, reveal the blindside of this reality!

opening an eye will encourage everyone to see

the darkness does not mean that shadows don't exist or can't be seen

only we've been willing ourselves to face the darkness and what's within.

—

words by: lyvin

photo source: Henn Kim

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

beginning of the end

i don't know if this is a poem

or a prose

or anything glorifying as a writing

it's nothing extravagant like fireworks

or anything poetic like letters

but maybe something stripped naked

or a nonsensical series of stanzas

i don't even know anymore if i am attempting to rhyme

or if i am trying too hard doing any attempts

but what will be different this year?

will my writings start to make real sense?

or will i finally learn to dress my tragedies;

make them look more pleasant for the world to see?

will i finally show the world my scars

knowing they were once fresh and that it hurt

and that i am starting to heal, no matter how slow

then about the hesitance and fear that found home inside me

will they continue to linger as aftermath whenever i fail?

how will i ever distinguish what is best

from something so foolish?

or will i finally choose to see that i do not know what's right anymore?

will it be a year of me confronting myself?

facing the fears that live inside me?

challenging the failures i refused to consider as one?

will i finally find a way to accept that i am no genius?

as bitter as it may sound, that i am just an arrogant mediocre

will this be the year that i accept my flaws

little by little overcome my insecurities

rid me of envies towards people i could be friends with

or change me because i long to be different

all to fool myself that i am special?

maybe this does make sense, but not poetry-kind-of-sense

existential questions, make-believe reasons

taking form as lines of a supposedly greeting poem

well then, for what its worth, i hope this makes sense — however you wanna put it

another year, whatever it is that you have in store for me

break me, build me, strip me

dress me, diss me, dump me

hurt me, wound me, heal me

i say, bring it on!!

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

Beyond all the the things undone

Inside a house they call home

Burning from inside out

I am nothing but a wilting flower

In a cracked vase, deprived of water

They had me when they thought I could make them happy

Took care of me, expecting me to bloom and grow

But I didn't, I am just a flower

With no roots, no soil, how do I grow?

We had curtains to make things pretty

We bought rags to sweep under all the unwanted stories

But curtains can't give me sunlight

And rags doesn't make me feel alive

So, I am nothing but a wilting flower

In a vase, depraved of water

And today is the day

The house called home burns itself dowm

And I wilt my existence away

Leaving behind a cracked vase, untested waters

Piles and piles of ashes and unwanted memories

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

Aubades:

(No) Traces Left Behind

[spectacles-of-living]

if there's a taste I'd never forget

it'll be pain and pain alone

and if there's a feeling I'd never forget

it'll be the guilt and guilt alone

for what this soul remembers

are always kept in the chambers

for what this soul suffers

stays hidden in the towers

what was the taste of pain—

and how come i cannot forget?

it tasted metallic, unnerving and horrifying

being able to taste filled me with regret

what was so bad about guilt—

that i loathed to remember?

it's like being stabbed yet unable to express the pain

you will not die — you'll have to live with it

and perhaps that's what made me insane

i've told myself a thousand times

to stop minding the pain and the guilt

but realized that it's impossible not to mind

if only memory doesn't remind me

of the unnerving taste of pain

horrifying feeling of guilt

maybe I'd love to remember

lyvin

[spectacles-of-living]

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. redundant, yes. but i lack the knowledge to use any metaphors or any poetic lines to sustain or describe what i feel. It hurts more by the knowledge that you don't care, or know for the matter. It sucks, it's so hopeless and the world feels super harsh and I hate it.

“my love for you haunts me like the dead. ”

But crooked thinking, yes? The world doesn't revolve around me. You world doesn't revolve around me. I doubt i even have just a place in your world, not even a bystander's. And knowing that makes me wanna sink deeper and deeper into the ground. I feel the need to bury all I feel for you like they don't exist or for them to cease to exist—like the dead. But like the dead, some believes it still haunts you, right? And I am one of many who believes that the dead still haunts us, because I killed and buried my admiration and cliché as it is, my love for you, but despite being under the surface of the earth... It's still here.

It's there in the corner of my eye whenever I see your smile. It's still here lingering in my veins whenever I feel your touch. It's still here, it echoes in the corner of the room where I hear your voice. It's etched on my skin like scars carved to exist for the longest of eternity. It's here saying it's you, it's you, it's still you and it will always be you that I want, crave and love dearly that it hurts so bad.

lyvin