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Personal Note:
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Poem
I surf through the crooning crests
of warm, blue waters,
breathing poetry and prose,
carved in topaz and turquoise,
for I am the goddess
of the bittersweet estuary,
crowned with foamy salt and sea glass,
intoxicated by inked
sapphires and solitude.
This quill longs for silence and serenity,
where the scarred streaks of sunsets
cannot burn the edges of my
cerulean canvas,
adorned with holographic heartbeats.

In this marked territory,
there is no oasis for toxic urchins,
and the masquerading silhouette
of the manipulative muse
can never steal the metered
soul of multicolored metaphors,
floating in sequence
of conch-shell cadence,
as I wear an aquatic armor,
glazed in sparkling scales,
erasing remorseful rhymes
drenched in repressed rhapsodies.

But why does it feel like I’ve written
all these in redundant refrains?
Perhaps life is an odyssey anchored
to boundless boundaries,
sailing in repetitive rhythm,
reluctant to allow hypocritical skies
to invade and engulf thin lines
of self-love ruffling
along moon-wrapped ripples.

The ignorant eyes may place labels
and state that I am sadness,
speaking melancholy and madness,
yet I am everything they know not:
the brightest shade of 
lilacs and amethysts,
dwelling in driftwood isolation,
weaving chronicles of healing mantras
in cursive fluidity of diamond tears,
as this is my crystal cyan castle,
detached in the solitary lagoon
of calcified promises,
seeking comfort through the
tainted forest of the tidal waves,
tasting solace amidst anemic currents.

In this lyrical loneliness,
I thrive, twirling to the tunes
of my own reveries,
sheltered and engrossed
in free-flowing scars
laced in cynical radiance,
far from conniving tales
of an apocalyptic ambience.
I choose to swim alone
with eclipsed shadows
roaming the abyss of the twilight zone,
where no strings of trickery
can lure me to an
island of misleading flora and fauna,
blooming like devious daffodils
from Narcissus’s seeds of hatred.

I’ll be the voice of Sedna,
guiding the faded glows
of garnet gravels.
I have no desire to chase
fleeting gold draped around
the aching river of
sakura blossoms and milky quartz,
for my ink does not long
to seize what soars
above this marine meadow of
lunar-glazed phrases.
So I shall remain content
in my sweet sanctuary
of blissful stillness,
composing songs of survival
and clarity in timeless resilience.
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