The seashore kelp that waits for the waves
My ambiguous yearning for you gradually gathers
Like silky seaweed at the seaside shore in early summer,
It imprints itself gently onto the pulpy, soaked sand,
Impatiently waiting for the next anticipated wave,
I wait for you, like an ire soul restless in its grave,
My organs, my heart, await you like the kelp, a slave,
Stuck — oh, drowning! — in the suffocating sand,
Tethered by an invisible thread that ties me and commands
That my hollow heart-rate shall sync with the wistful waves
They never do come, and the sand, my loneliness, presses against my ribs,
And all that suppressed anguish that’s welled up leaks from my pen’s nib,
That’s when the poetry I skillfully scribble sings the wave’s songs,
It tickles like the rough-edged kelp, screams the way my heart longs,
Tell me, my beloved — only if you may speak the bittersweet truth,
Why does every wave that comes insufferably wash away my youth?
Nevertheless, I’ll wait like the spine-shaped kelp, until I can breathe, until I’m uproot.
Hannah Grace Wang
Autumn leaves bring it full circle
Confirmation doesn’t mean much,
except reassurance to trust your gut.
Knowing doesn’t change things
after the year of uncertainty
It turns out, I wasn’t the one who needed
Soon it’ll be winter again, but
the frost on the glass has melted
And I can finally see
the other side of the window.
The Burden of Choice
Our age is the “anything possible” age
where the freedom of choosing
what you want to be is stifling.
With so many more possibilities,
so many more paths, who knows where to go?
Is the step forward actually two steps back?
Is the path you chose an unbreakable, unending loop?
Or is it just you?
When the people beside you run, jump, and stride forward,
is it your fault for being stuck?
In the “anything possible” age, expectations, hopes, and dreams
are stacked up as high as the sky.
In the “anything possible” age, you are given freedom.
Freedom that pins you down. Freedom that chains you down.