Saturday, April 23, 2016

Intertwined

There was a girl who wasn’t good at expressing her feelings, except writing poems.

There was a boy who wasn’t good at expressing what he felt deep inside, except making art.

They met and collaborated; he was the body and she was soul.

Art isn’t beautiful without story to be told. And story isn’t worth reading without art.

They simply needed each other.


Like a big oak tree with the sun shining gloriously to its branches.



by Janica

Friday, April 22, 2016

5 A.M. Poetry





Sleep is your only home!

And your dreams are your world.

Sleep is your only home!

Don't come back here!

Where you'll never be safe from those prying eyes,
Saying that you can't wear diamonds for those dull linen,
Saying that you're the who to blame when you scratch,
Where your strengths are caged,
Where you're only an object of dirty desire.



Sleep is your only home!

And your dreams are your world.

Sleep is your only home!

Don't come back here,

Because I've been trying so hard to fall into its pits,

But insomnia has been my blanket.