of inactions and actions

i am the soft music from a poor piano player's hands

that trickles into the conversations of bargoers

subtly flowing and ongoing

i am the radio that pumps in the background

of parties where people profess artificial love and

the drugs deepen life


do you hear Chopin playing in the background of this art exhibition

he's my idol

and Grieg's my closest friend


i breathe in C major

speak in G major

cry in C sharp minor

love in E flat major


when i die, i want to die in F minor

and be buried with the sweet words of long ago

clothed in nostalgia and regret

covering my eyes will be the hope of the wildflowers

which nearly all my life

i had torn under the wrath of my rue


i define my life by what i do and what i do not

what i am is a series of inactions

tucked away

carefully categorized and alphabatized

i carry them everywhere


my head hurts with the 'could have's' and the 'did not's'

but someone has to keep them organized


i am a wanderer of the past present and future

i never linger for long in any of them

there is a constant fluctation of creeping to the past

- where the wildflowers are at the peak of bloom and he is there, colored fresh in my mind-

and then to the present where the wildflowers are simply there, and so is he


just there


and to the future where the flowers slowly start to fade, and so does he

slipping from my fingers as are the seeds of the flowers in the wind

and when he and all i love are gone

i will have to collect the regret of more inactions

because i can never bring myself to define my life by what i have done

when there is so much i could have done


i could've practiced that song more dedicatedly

i could've said hello to the new foreign student

whose eyes went wide at the American Dream

and i could've told him when he was still here

i love you

i love you

i love you

but i didn't and the inactions rack my brain

my life is pushed forward violently while my mind is still lost in time

and the wildflowers are dying faster than ever before


but now i am finally starting to realize

that the wildflowers will grow feverishly again

their seeds will be restrewn across seas to bring hope to the most distant

and they will bring a new time for me

a different time

a newfound determination to take more action

my mind is steady and my eyes look confidently towards the horizon

where i know a future lies

i just have to collect it from time's tricky little hands


i'll put the wildflowers in my hair

and follow the winds that carry away the seeds

and i will push for the cause

of my actions finally cancelling out the inactions

and then i will be as true

as the music as the flowers


this is what i am

a series of inactions

but some day

my veins will flow with the blood

of self-made history

and movement

and i will be human

This poem is about: 


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