can’t

everyday
you put on a brave face
for me. for us.
but i’m choking.

(can’t you see?)

it’s killing me;
this pretending. like
you’re still just as
brave? we both
know that’s
not true.

ignorance is bliss
but having to ignore is
pain.

and as you walk out
the front door,
for me, for us,
i don’t know how
not to notice your 
hands become
frailer,

and frailer.

(i can’t let you see.)

Wistful.

everywhere
you go, won’t be
what is no longer
and yet every time
you try to find that
lost
home,
never will 
something,
feel dearer. 
For what
ensues 
the ache
is worth

everything.

-Toto

In your debt.

Wrote this a while back, as gratitude for a teacher who helped in more ways than her job required. 🙂


The first poem
I wrote in
English Class
encouraged me
to be a less
horrible poet.
So I wrote to
impress you 
but who knew
you taught to help
us.
Not through those
‘frame sentences’
I loathed
but the time we
spent
supposedly
wasting
and ended up
making it
something 
I still
long for.
Not once, not twice
but countless times
you being there made
the difference.
Perhaps, it is no wonder 
then, that every poem
I write since when 
you made us write 
that very first;

I owe you.

Then again,
I owe a lot
more too.
<3

-Toto

Hold On.

Maybe bravery isn’t even bravery,
it’s these foolish thoughts meant to stray you
from the path of a “satisfying” (uneventful) life.

And suddenly you’re off your feet and
the ground seems to be shrinking.

 

Perhaps flying isn’t really flying,
but worries being set free.

“The sky is grander than it seems from the ground.”
It’s expanding but it’s also somehow only just around you?

Oh, how your eyes widen and the awe becomes these gusts, determined not to disappoint.


You’re spinning,
*
the world’s a blur
*
then it erupts into laughter.


“or no wait..”
maybe it’s just you starting to notice?
Self-deprived of reasons to be happy.
you’ve forgotten;

reasons aren’t reasons,
they’re excuses,

meant direly
to be,
held
onto.

if we encouraged compassion/joy/positivity as much as we romanticise serious mental illnesses to seem almost desirably poetic, maybe we’d be able to spread the much-needed positive vibes in our lives.

-Toto

As Them?

These
stubborn lungs,
inflate and let go.
And while I have
let myself,
inflate of

h o p e s
and
d r e a m s,

does not letting go,
make me just
as stubborn
as them?
-Toto

Update 1.1

Heya people! 🙂
Just wanted to quickly update you all on the addition of a new category called POETRY, being added to ToW.
Poetry is still very new to me and I haven’t written maybe more than 10 poems in total.

But that doesn’t stop me from trying 😉

So the very 1st post in this category titled “DIVISION OF THEM; BROWN AND BLUE” (click on the link to read it: http://wp.me/p4Lefj-2C) was my first try writing free verse poetry and it was insanely fun. 😀

Anyways I hope you look forward to reading new poems in the future just as much as I do writing them!

Take care,

Toto