(life is) An Unpaved Path (so I’m) Cultivating A Jungle

Your own mind

Will ravage more damage

Than any external force,

Whatever you let in

Will either

break you apart

Or nourish your bones,


Careful my friend

With which thoughts you choose to call home,

The silence is sometimes better than the spinning rhymes,

It is an art I am yet to master

A skill I am yet to procure,

You can hate me for my poor decisions

For I know that I’m only trying

To navigate this uneasy soul,

To find a place

To find a reason

For my existence

That can serve more souls

Outside my own,

We often find wonderful people

when we stop seeking

And follow the path of the Unknown,

Maybe it’s only then that we begin to bring out our truths,

Where there’s only “I” to be found

that’s when the true self

Really comes about,

And those that magnetise to us,

On this path that bares no signs or arrows,

Are the ones that share our instinctive beats and tones,

The ones that were there all along

Hidden behind forced friendships

And lonely nights,

Reminder to self: this is just one fragment

This is not where we stop trekking,

The unpaved path

Is forever extending,

As we build it ourselves

To find a greater reason

Beyond the people that walk alongside us,

It’s also

Our ideas,

And observations,

Our insights and our wisdom,

Our awareness and all the lessons,

These are the fruits that begin to grow

As we throw seeds

Along beside us

Cultivating a jungle

For many others

To expand on

And to enjoy

Spearheaded shovel

How absurd it is that we take ourselves so seriously sometimes,

But that’s what keeps us on our toes,

That’s what keeps the monsters from creeping through the sheets

And holds the bats at bay

And smothers the biting thoughts

That try to eat us whole

And pull us under

Beneath the soil

And spread roots

Like weeds

Stripping the earth of fruitful space

Leaving a trail of heads

Faster than anything living,

Hard to keep up if

you let the ugly heads tear through marked territory,

Without kicking a shovel in the ground

And ripping apart

The beady eyes

And stripping the foundations

From the ground,

Sometimes that shovel

Is the dagger of passion,

That separates I from them,

With a spearhead

Too sharp for combat,

This shovel is made

For leaving a trail of flowers and gold

Shape shifting myth machine

Forever wandering



Messy heart,

Irregular beats,

Laid out in the open

To catch a glimpse of sunlight,

To catch floating fragments of life,

See Bowie once said

You can be what ever you want to be

It’s all up to us,

Reinvent yourself

If you’d like to,

A thousand times over

As much as you please,

Ziggy fell away into the stardust

So that Major Tom could rise,

And from that abstract

Alternate planet

A whole myth arose

And from that myth

A man with a rather pale complexion 

And a slim pin figure 

Came bustling on stage,

Step aside Davie Jones,

Let’s go dancing in the rain,

Doesn’t matter who you go with

So long as you enjoy the moves,

Dress us up in latex and glitter,

Synthesise the new with the old

Welcome to your very own sacred imaginarium 

Feeling kind of shakey

And fragile

And open

Tore my heart apart

Just to show you where it hurts

To alleviate the suffering

To see (how I believe) everybody else sees,

I remember once,

A boy I used to love

Told me he wished he could live a day in my head

To shake up the unrest

But then he took it back

Cause he said he wouldn’t be able to bare the pain I was in

And the pain is a scar

From an injury I did unto myself

A scab I kept picking

Before it became a traceable mark

That I could no longer hide from myself or anybody else

That taunts me

And echoes down the corridors of my mind

That stands as a barrier

Between the light outside and the dark inside

Balance is golden

But balance is rare

You cannot be everything and anything

You must decide

On a way

Your way

That sings and dances and breaths

sunlight and songbirds through the days,

That draws with crayons

a multicoloured picture of two-headed insects and blooming fields,

A place where the grass can be purple

and the stars are visible in the daylight,

An imaginarium of ideas

That can make sense to only you

For within these grandiose creatures and places

Are ideas rooted deep beneath the earth and stooped high above the trees

Just for a moment

Thinking about you before I drift away

Sweetens the bite of loneliness that keeps me awake

And sweeps up the fragments

Of my heart

That have been broken and scattered

from place to place

Your kind nature

Your gentle soul

Your rough edges

Your unfaltering principles…

Make me melt just a little

And my heart sink to the ground

It makes me happy you’re a part of my life

And that I get to rest my soul beside you

Again and again

You’re just one of those people I’ll never get tired of

And you make me feel like you feel the same way

Your hugs are like a shield

From the daggers to the heart

The storm clouds that culminate in the mind

And the fears that sink in the gut

When you’re around these symptoms dissipate

And the whole world, just for a moment,

Feels complete and infinitely connected

A Faceless Man

This is a poem I wrote back in November of 2012 – the year I moved to Melbourne, Australia by myself to start university after living in Hong Kong for 2.5 years. This particular poem illustrates my curiosity about a man that lived in the share house I was living in (there were 7 of us altogether) – a man none of us had ever met and only ever saw a mere glimpse of in passing in the hallway once or twice.


He’s a faceless man, got a name and an address
His friends are issuing search warrants,
While his mamma drops in just to check
In a house of seven,
It’s more like six
He’s a faceless, silent, no-body man

Squandering a life, who knows what
Could have been…
He’s faceless, I think, who knows, who can tell

Can’t have bathed for a decade, lives on dust mites and coal
No sign of a life, still the bills… get paid

Who is he, no one knows, not even his mamma,
His friends?
They don’t know,

Have the termites got him,
Does he know he exists?

He’s a faceless stranger, strange, strange, man
A faceless man, doesn’t move doesn’t sing
No hustling or creaking
Unanswered phone calls. Beeping.

Does he sit in an office, does he box toy guns,

Does he know of his existence, say, does he know he exists?
Does he sleep beneath rubbish and filth, no. That’s obscene

A solipsist’s nightmare, a psychologist’s dream

Does he know Freddy Krueger, or Johnny, or Bill.
Does he fill out a suit…
Does he live in a dream;
Do we live in a dream?

Wild flowers

They keep trying to tame us,

to mold us,

to prime us,

but they don’t realise that

we are wild flowers

in full bloom,

living and breathing

off the open air and unfiltered rain,

you can try to stamp us down

but we’ll rise and rise again,

our seedlings planted,

our roots vast and wide-spread

we poke our heads up from time to time,

we’re just a bunch of daisies and sunflowers

trying to change our worlds.

Bursting with bright colours,

soaking up the day’s sun,

Spreading sunlight into the hidden crevices of this earth,

just to bring more of this earth within the light

that breathes through all the many worlds.

The songbird

“Travel light, seek the light, spread the light, be the light” – unknown

Thirsty souls and open hearts ready to go exploring

To water this arid land

With new experiences and pure thoughts

For the most beaten heart can still drink the syrup of the honey suckle

The most buried soul can still uproot itself from the trodden soil

So never doubt the resilience of the songbird,

As it rises again each morning 

praising the world for all its beauty

For it’s wise enough to know that there cannot be light without the darkness,

So fly away beautiful butterfly,

Free spirit with a bruised soul,

You’ll rise again tomorrow 

With a renewed understanding of your world