Vision For Life

To absorb the magic in every moment, to breathe in new life in every encounter, to strive each day to live my ideal day.

To live the most spectacular and epic life possible and build a life that belongs entirely to me.

To find my people, the ones with this flame burning inside them to absorb and live, those who see and feel what others miss, those who live and dream in a different dimension, those who create their own truth--and to bring them together and ignite an explosion of truth, magic, creation, love, and beauty.

Approaching my Q4 a little differently this time and putting lifestyle as my nucleus. How are you setting and aligning your goals?

Outliving Your Life

How many lives do writers live in one story?

Some people live every moment they get, some live as many lives as they can, and some don’t even realize that they have one. I remember after my sister and I wrote our first novel together, someone asked us to summarize it in one sentence. We answered, “A pair of sisters—one destined to live out her life, and the other, to outlive her life.” How do you live your life? At the end of your life, could you be said to have lived at all? If so, when?

Thoughts inspired by Nikita Gill’s “Take This As Your Sign.”

On Femininity & Love

Inspired byNayyirah Waheed’s words, “I am relieved when I see the feminine presence in a man’s eyes. hat means he is a peace I do not need to bring to him.”

These words remind me of a silly pattern I’ve been spotting at weddings. You’ll often hear in a groom’s vows, “I love how much love she has.” As beautiful as it is (and appropriate for the occasion), so often men see women as their source of love and nurture.

For the men out there, are you looking to your partner to teach and remind you how to love yourself, to love the world, to love life? Please remember that we’re learning too, and we don’t have the answers, and we’re not responsible for your love journey. For the women out there giving every ounce of your love to your partner, it’s important to remember that the love we emit is a deep reflection of our relationship with ourselves. We can’t love someone into loving themselves. Your love journey is entirely your own, and so is theirs. Doesn’t mean you can’t share self-love, self-care, and inner beauty secrets, of course! :)

And for both parties out there, you only accept the love you’re ready for. Your partner can love you with all of his/her heart and soul, and carry all the love in the world, but you will only feel the extent to which you’re ready for.

This obviously doesn’t mean that women have more love, or are capable of more love than men are. Truth is, some of the people I know who carry the greatest capacity for love are men.

Closest Thing To Fate

Isn’t it beautiful, terrifyingly beautiful, that happiness isn’t a reminder, but an allowance? That unlike joy, the choice of happiness isn’t decided in the moment, but invited long before that. That wherever you are in life, when you’re ready, at your own pace…you make this decision, a promise to accept happiness. And how it transforms everything you see, everything you do, everything you feel, everything you are. 

Isn’t it terrifyingly beautiful that maybe our decision to invite happiness into our lives is the closest thing that exists to fate? 

Monday Morning Rise

Fill your lungs with morning air and hold the universe inside you. Breathe in the first rays of the sun and awaken the force within.

A reminder that every experience and encounter since the moment of your birth has been leading up to today, to this moment. Take a second, take it in.

A Kaleidoscopic Paradox

-A piece from one of my old diaries-


THE PARADOX

I’m what some might consider a paradox. This voracious ambition of mine seems to be matched only by a wild spirit. And while my mind constantly pushes for structure and progress, my heart reaches for freedom and adventure. I feel my soul begging to hold more and more as my spirit pleas to detach and release. So I live my life in short stories.

A friend once described my mind as a sponge—in a constant state of sensory overload, he said. I’m an empath by nature, and I feel everything: the speed of blood flowing through my veins, the tickle of leaves against its bark, the taste of agony or bliss within a tear. I perpetually feel the clash between this raging hunger to create and invent, and the unquenchable thirst to experience every last bit of life. Above all, I feel potential and I feel purpose.

My partner and I celebrated our two year anniversary yesterday, and in his card, he urged me to explore the world (knowing wholeheartedly that it could place distance between us). He described me as an earth shaker, telling me that I had purpose flowing out of my eyes balls. This man urged me to fly and soar, to never stop fighting for the magic I believe in—to travel the world and live as many lives as I could, write as many short stories as I could, and one day, inspire others and share my philosophy.

PURPOSE

Ever since my very first moment of consciousness, I’ve felt that I was meant to live an extraordinary life. There was this mighty force within me telling me that I was to do something grand in the years that I walked this earth and breathed this air. This sense of magic is at the very core of my being, holding together everything I encompass. But my whole life, I’ve struggled to balance this unwavering ambition with that wild spirit from within. When every bone in my body was ready to fight to its death, a little voice in my head urged me to release all desires and lose myself in the dancing patterns of the wind.

Within the seemingly paradoxical forces, I finally found a common link: purpose. This is precisely what my partner led me to realize yesterday. (If you’re reading this and ever wonder what’s keeping this free spirit of mine so close to you, I hope this will help to explain it. I’m not chasing after things because they’re different. I’m chasing after Beauty. Expansion. Magic. Creation. I want the raw and the true, and you bring me closer to that. The meaning I live for, I find within you).

And my purpose is to approach life like a kaleidoscope. My favorite kinds of people are the people who carry a spark of magic within them—you see it in their eyes, in the way they walk and smile, and you see it in the way they live their lives. Perhaps the first thing I can do is show someone that it’s okay to live our lives this way. It’s okay to open the curtains every morning and breathe in the sun. It’s okay kick ass and let our vibrant rays explode into the air around us. It’s okay to create our own paths in life to reflect the kaleidoscopes that we are. In fact, it’s magnificent!

WHAT IT MEANS TO LIVE IN SHORT STORIES

A little background is that I’m at a time in my life where everything around me is accelerating. Something incredible is about to happen, and I know it. Every day, I feel that much closer to my purpose. All this momentum. All this potential. I can hardly breathe on most days.

So what does it mean to live your life in short stories? Well, think of individual chapters in your life, only they’re each their own unique story. Different settings, different characters, different narrator, different author. Stop living your life by the chapter. Stop following a timeline of what you need to accomplish at a specific age. Jump around. Live the life of a 38-year-old businessman today, and then that of a 6-year-old prodigy in a few months. Defy the laws of time because why not? In the end of your 100 years (or 50 or 25), who’s going to care?

I’ve pursued my dreams and fantasies one at a time, lived different lives and become different versions of myself in the process. And I’m sure as hell not the only one. People like us, we go through life losing ourselves and finding ourselves again. We speak in metaphors because facts are subject to a limited life. We live our lives as verbs, not nouns. Sometimes we feel like we grow more in a month than most do in a year.

Think of your life. Are you living your life in chapters or short stories? Are you writing an epic poem or a research paper? And if you were to divide your life into separate chapters or stories, would you define them by traditional life milestones? Childhood, elementary school, college…etc. If you are, how long do you have to wait until the next chapter (because you wouldn’t be in control of time). Do you have titles that draw you in? Would you read your own story?

I don’t mean to glorify this kind of life, because it has its ups and downs. And more importantly, it’s really not for everyone. What I’m trying to say is that while we’re encouraged to explore and pursue our dreams, we’re also constantly reminded of the importance of stability. The life of an artist, we’re conditioned to believe, is unreliable. We’re portrayed in movies as the parents who leave their children to chase after an unattainable fantasy. We’re the ones who blindly follow the aesthetic life. That’s where the paradox in me lies.

HOW I DO IT

First off, the ups and downs—that’s who we are. We embrace the patterns and colors of the universe—the positive and the negative, the light and the dark. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re ups and downs, like notes of an unfinished song. So long as we’re the ones writing it.  Don’t be afraid to embrace the good and the bad. Believe me, there are days where I just lie there and feel the weight of all the characters I’ve yet to step into, all the stories I’ve yet to write, and then there are days where a random stranger will share his/her story with me and reveal the secret to their life.  

[At my parents’ house and I hear my Mom laughing downstairs so I’m going to take a break and see what she’s up to.]

Secondly, freedom and stability are by no means mutually exclusive. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m very grounded in my values and principles. Let’s take a closer look at the song example I mentioned earlier. Every song carries a unique tune, but within that lies a separate universe in how you express it. By singing the same song, two singers tell different versions of the same tale, and that song instantly becomes two. In the same sense, the way you live your life defines the tune of the song; you write the notes just like you write your story. But how you sing it, how you decide to carry the tune is entirely up to you. For example, a woman may reveal her motherhood through her pitch; if that’s the case, she should be mindful of that pitch as she composes her song. But she must also recognize that the qualities of being a mother doesn’t necessarily live in one’s pitch. It could be in her timbre, or even the pauses she takes to catch her breath.  

There was a point in my life when I didn’t know how to balance my family with my ambitions and need for freedom. (And believe me, I’m still far from mastering it). But what I’ve slowly come to realize is that things like family and principles, you can always fit them into the new world you want to create. And sometimes it’s not about balancing them every day. Sometimes you take a step back and think of how to balance your life with them in it. The timeline you’re so used to living by—replace the time values with your own principle values. Be creative. You create your fantasies and dreams. You create your desires and motivations.

It’s like time management. It’s about managing and organizing your life, not about balancing everyday so they take up equal time. A recent study about travelling parents shows that what’s most important in a child’s life isn’t the amount of time they spend with their parents, but rather, the quality of the time they spend with their parents. So don’t hide behind your kids or whatever principle it might be—they’re not your shield. My family brings me a kind of bliss that I could never feel from chasing the world. It’s a different kind of beauty, and it adds a new dimension to my life. So organize your life like you manage your time. Take charge of your life and stop with the excuses.

To the beautiful souls and free spirits—you’re made with an incredible capacity to carry life. Never stop surprising yourself by how much bigger and more beautiful you are than you had imagined. Don’t feel the need to take the conventional path too often. Never stop surprising yourself. Never stop creating. Never stop wondering. Never stop living. And never stop exhaling magic.

Just remember that your substance, your spark, and your purpose are magical. No one’s version of the world will ever be good enough for you, so create your own. Just make sure it’s a good one. Don’t just create something, don’t just be someone different. Be someone beautiful. Be someone inspirational. Be someone who carries warmth and grace. Don’t just experience life, understand it, teach it, play with it. Don’t ask for less responsibilities, ask for more strength. And when someone throws negativity at you, learn to detach from the negativity and offer them a glimpse of your world. I hope you never stop believing in yourself and the universe, cause I won’t. That’s my promise to the world, and that’s my promise to my 3-year-old self.  

And I’ll say this again, I’m far from mastering it. This is just the beginning, remember?

If We Could Go Back And Be Naive Again

“I’m happy to see you again.”

“Likewise; it’s been too long.”

“I figured you were busy. Every time I call you out for a cup of coffee, you seem to find a clever excuse to not see me.”

“I haven’t been happy and it’s been this way for a long time now. The thought of suicide has never left my mind. Again and again I try to abandon the idea, but nothing can really take those thoughts away from my mind for too long. I’d like to focus only on the present, but I keep dwelling on the past.”

“I love you, Triston, even if no longer romantically. The memories you gave me are precious and a daily motivation. You’re always going to be a great man to me.”

Truth was, his warmth had yet to leave her soul. And after realizing this, she drove off into the night with a goal of chasing the moon until it was nowhere to be found. There were no stars in the sky, only a gigantic ball of light sitting in solitude, punishing itself for something it had no control over. She drove and drove, but the moon led her right back to his house.

The scene felt so familiar, dating back to ages and ages ago. She stood there, in his place, and he took hers against the door. She longed to help him, but she lost her right to the moment she walked away from their love. She never thought of him once when she was with Enrique but her heart just naturally drifted back to him now that she allowed it.

She didn’t say a single word and just sat on his steps. And things fell naturally into place when he plopped down, his back against hers. Two against the darkness, staring up at the hole in the velvet sky, unaware that Tessa was gazing down from the window.

Their silence had been through so much together.

StoriesHillary Wen
An Ancient Obsession

This may seem gibberish right now, but I think I’m in a tragedy. And it’s a tragedy my mind is writing for my life. I’m trying so hard to change it. I’m trying. Thing is: my mind’s a genius. And I’m it’s obsession.

His words fell so softly onto the side of her ear and eased their way gently into whatever was left in her. And she no longer needed a glass of wine to hold his words dearly.

“I’m never going to settle am I? I’m never going to get that fairytale ending, am I?”

The lids closed softy over her wandering pupils and her head swayed in swirling motions the rhythm of his silence. 

“Sometimes I wonder how I got to where I am today. I guess this chapter is about how much can happen to a stagnant life. It’s about how much of life I can feel by doing nothing. How much I can stand myself when I’m not moving. No stable income, no relationship, no emotional outlet but myself—see where it takes me.”

Hillary WenStories
Dust Off My Wings

I was having a rough time a year ago, a period of dry lucidity. Left my mind behind for a long walk with a goal of getting lost. The wind was blowing fiercely at that hour, and it felt like the world was exhaling all its waste onto me. Then all of a sudden, my ears captured this faint tune drifting through the breath of the breeze. All the winds ceased to howl and the world around me stood still altogether. The melody grew with every footstep, but my feet were hesitant to accelerate at the risk of compromising the divinity of the tune, and so I decided to sit down instead. Closed my eyes for however long I did, and reopened them to the street musician sitting right before me. I turned to him and smiled, and he returned a radiant gesture of acknowledgment. Without the exchange of a single word, we shared an hour or two of silence together before I left him with a poem and a "I couldn't help it" smile. The last thing I remember was his "don't look for me" nod. I didn't listen to him, though I should have because when I went to look for him again, he was already gone. 

I've been lucky enough to cross paths with these angels who seem to brush the dust off my wings so effortlessly. These wonderful people I don't and will never know. I want to be one of them. I want to be many of them. Radiating, resonating, piecing together lost souls...

Concealed Within True Love

Continuity is not a theory; it actually exists, so I’ve reassured myself over two fleeting decades of animation. This single quest for clarity, especially within romantic endeavors, has dragged with such muffled mercy to the soul that my faith in such continuum has fallen inferior to what others deem fantasy. And again, I propose the question: Is a flow in progress self-sustainable?

I don’t know the secret to continuity, but in some untrodden region of my consciousness, I recognize that I won’t secure it in Keats or Shakespeare. And whether through the sirens of heaven or the indolence of hell, continuity has entertained my mind with only an exquisite spirit of inquiry. But today I stand, embowered in my own awakened and flickering eyes, upon a first glimpse of this concept so fine in texture.

Continuity in romance is not about imagining a future with someone, but about not envisioning one without them. It’s not about wandering the celestial paradise or the depths of hell, but about journeying back and forth without losing sight of that one person. And it’s not about uniting by the hand, but by the density of each footstep and pace of each breath. Lastly, it’s not about him/her being the one; it’s about the two of you becoming one.

Within his voice, I have found the therapeutic value of harmonic rhythms found only in music, and within his eyes, the enchantment of vibrating colors emitted only through light. And within his soul. I have begun to digest the manifesting expression of eternity concealed within true love.

Creating Your World Called Home

Who am I? What makes me, me? What is the unique energy, substance, spark, that is mine and mine alone?

We continue to ask these questions that can sometimes feel overwhelming, so instead, ask yourself to…

Picture this imaginary three foot bubble around you. Anyone within three feet from you is automatically absorbed into your world. What will they find in there? What do you want them to feel and experience while they’re in your world? And then when you figure that out, how can you make this three foot bubble into a three thousand foot bubble?

We’re born into a pre-written background story — our ethnicity, our socio-economic background, our family, our culture — but whether our story is made of words or pictures, whether we write a chapter book, an epic poem, or a collection of short stories….how many pages we write…

That is completely up to us. So use the colors in your story carefully, because your story is the world that you live in. That world isn’t created for you. You create it. With every thought and decision you make.

We don’t attract people to us, we attract people to what we stand for. And people don’t fall for us, either. They fall in love with the world that we live in and strive every day to create.

The sooner you recognize that, the sooner you can start creating your world confidently, apologetically. And the sooner you can allow more of yourself into your life.

Some people, when I ask them what they want to do in life, they say they want to inspire others. They want to build a legacy. And ask them about the legacy and they just don’t know. Not because they’re not powerful, capable beings, but because they simple don’t know themselves well enough yet. They don’t have a clear enough picture of what their world looks like.

Who do you want to inspire? What kind of people do you love and enjoy spending time with? How will you inspire? What is the unique gift and experience that the universe gave you that’s completely yours?

The world that you create for yourself is your confession of character. That is your truth. So stop asking what you can create for the world, and instead, ask yourself what kind of world do you want to live in and build everyday? And then day by day, invite the rest of the world in. That’s where your legacy begins.

And it doesn't mean the world will always like what they see. Within all of us lives a capacity for great success. But know that true success comes from true vulnerability, and sometimes at great costs and responsibilities. You see yourself for who you are and others will begin to see you for who you are. So evidently, some people are going to reject you. Let that fuel you to embrace who you are. Not out of contempt because then you’re not only rejecting them, but also yourself. No, do it out of love— for yourself and for the world that you live in.

We, as humans, fear what we do not understand. So understand that those who reject you are just not familiar with the energy you emit. They’re not familiar with your strength, your power. Don’t expect everyone to understand because they won’t. What you understand is your privileged. And so instead, seek to understand, and be the person who loves and accepts others.

Remember that those who love you love themselves the same way. Those who reject you reject themselves the same way, and those who expand you bathe in stardust everyday. (From My Low Budget High Spirit)

Surround yourself not with people who will tell you that your glass is half empty or full, but people who will pour into your glass until it overflows. We all want to find someone who will encourage us to drink and refill our glasses. And most of us want to be someone who will pour into others’ glasses.

But before we can do that, we have to figure out what it is that we want to pour in there. And once you figure that out, let it pour out of your soul. What you’ll find is that the universe expands at the rate at which your soul pours out.

Your world isn’t just in your head. It’s in the lives you expand, in the air you cleanse, and in the truth that you own.

You're A Gifted Child, The Universe Told Her

You’re a gifted child, the universe told her. She was 1.

I have a feeling I won’t get along with this child, an uncle told her Father. She was 2.

There’s something special about this child, the adults crowded around her. She was 3.

I don’t want you playing with her, her aunt told her cousin as they were playing together. She was 4.

Could be a disorder, the psychiatrists told her parents as they observed her. She was 5. 

The kids in school won’t play with me, she told her Mother. She was 6.

Don’t ask for less responsibilities. Instead, seek more strength to carry, said the universe. She was 7. 

There are lots of people waiting for you to fall. You can’t let them win, an aunt warned her. She was 8.

I am meant to be alone in this life, she believed. She was 9. 

It was at a Best Buy when a stranger reached inside her skirt. She was 10. 

If you could carry their burden, maybe they’ll find happiness again, she told herself. She was 11.

Please, don’t take my Mom from us, she prayed on her knees for an hour each night. She was 12. 

The voices aren’t real, she assured herself as she trembled beside the light each night. She was 13. 

I don’t know who I love more, said her first boyfriend after she found out. She was 14.

My girlfriend doesn’t want me talking to you anymore, said her best friend. She was 15.

All you can do is show more compassion. Understand them even if they can’t understand you yet. You were created to walk through hell with a smile, she practiced in the mirror. You were designed to carry much more than this. The universe gave you the capacity to see, understand, absorb more. Your only job in this life is to color its picture with your own colors. She was 16. 

Why not? she began to ask. She was 17. 

Just love more, she told herself. The more it hurts, the more you must love, because only love can conquer pain. Love purely, beautifully, vibrantly. She was 18.

You can trust me, her best friend and third boyfriend promised for over a year as he carried a separate life behind her. She was 19.

Would you like to go on vacation together, a professor asked as his lips touched her ear. She was 20. 

I will show her that life is beautiful, that light and love always wins. I will prove to her the power of absolute faith, and she will pull through. She was 21. 

You’re beautiful. I think I’m in love with you, her boss told her as he ran his hand down her back. She was 22. 

She’s a lesbian, it’s all in your head, her fourth boyfriend made her believe for two years. She was 23.

What kind of world shall I build? Who do I invite into it? she finally asked. She was 24.

Before you embark on this next journey, take a deep breath. Relax. Give the child some space to heal, I tell her. We’re 25. 

To Familiar Sparks

When my mind was young my heart was old And I’d watch the seasons race the cold With a match I once tickled the sun And burned for it to color me young. Now my mind is old and my heart is young And my mornings chant anthems of heroes unsung Through window cracks, a young ray fingers Sending tickles of a warmth that lingers. Every now and then I still spark a flame I test my limits; I challenge God by name. To old familiar chants, my mind still turns To familiar sparks my heart forever burns.

PoetryHillary Wen
Who Pronounced You Dead?

Hi, I'm Hillary. I believe in alignment, magic, creation, and expansion, and am terrified of being a fraud. I'm hiding from a child, behind a child. 

I...I...I...

You see, the beginning of my life revolved around one single theme: The Gifted Child. Ever since I was a young gal, I've been told that I had this extraordinary capacity--adults in my family, teachers, peers, bosses, strangers with whom I shared a moment’s conversation…etc. And so at an early age, I promised the universe to do something extraordinary with my life. 

In my earlier days, my differentness caused chatter in my family, and I remember being instructed by a distant relative to stand strong in life because there were people waiting for me to fail. As a young gal, I felt isolated...isolated form my peers, isolated from the world, isolated from who I was. All I knew was that I had to do something magnificent with my life, and I had to guard this gift of mine, even if it was with elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt...etc. 

There was also a deep need within me to protect the people who believed in me. In a way, I was responsible for their word and faith. They didn't pressure me to become great. They believed in meand that was so much more. (In fact, all my parents ever taught me to do was to use this gift of mine to follow my heart and build a simple, beautiful life). But The Gifted Child was everything I knew. 

She (the child) shaped me into who I am today. At a young age, she taught me to embrace my uniqueness. While other children were learning how to read time, she spent the majority of her time pondering the meaning of life. This child quickly grew impatient with the pace of life and boundaries of time, money, and such. She was to beat time, live outside of its boundaries. She was to live many lives at a time. And money? She was to create a new form of currency...The Gifted Child, she felt this unimaginable force within, this ability to see, feel, and understand things that no one else did. 

She...She...She...

Ah, The Gifted Child. She was my most powerful asset and my deepest hindrance, a gift and a curse. 

She had trouble connecting with people. She was afraid to be who she was, and afraid to disappoint the people who believed in her. And worst of all, She felt like a fraud. Constantly. She never felt like she was good enough. 

Elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt were just a few symptoms. The only time she felt at peace was while watching genius movies or reading Nietzsche, or Emerson, or Einstein...etc. That's still true to this day. 

So I suppressed her to the extent that I could. I rejected her. And she rejected me.


I turned 25 this past weekend. I still haven't changed the course of history

At 25 years, I sit here battling the inner child within me. The one terrified to make mistakes and expose herself, mortified that they'd discover she was a fraud, and all the lies I've ever told to cover up the fact that she was just another gifted child who couldn't make it through the scopes of society. Let me explain...

They...They...They...

They pull out their telescopes to hunt me down. They capture me only to put me under a microscope. Had they looked through a kaleidoscope. They would have seen me. They would have realized that I'm everywhere. 

That we can't exist without each other. That we're a consequence of each other's thoughts, actions, and beliefs. That we live both for each other and from each other. That in this life of infinite love and change, all we're really looking for is alignment. 

Alignment with each other. Alignment with the universe. Alignment with ourselves deep within. 

Only after understanding that did my inner child put down her telescope. And microscope. 


I'm been afraid my entire life, running from myself and hiding from that child, the unfamiliar power within. I wasn't afraid of disappointing everyone else. No, I was afraid of disappointing her. I never had a life away from her. In a way, she had pronounced me dead before I could take my first breath. 

But I took my first breath, and the breaths that followed were inhaled with intent to suppress her. I had a bag full of ammunition: telescopes, microscopes, periscopes...the same ones she had used against me. 

I wanted for so long to pronounce her dead. To break free of the chains that contained me. To unleash the me beyond her, and to show her that she was the only thing holding me back from coming alive. Put an end once and for all to elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt that she had caused by destroying her. 

But elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt is not the means to that solution. What I can do is pull out my kaleidoscope and invite her to do the same. 

Should we put an end to all this? 

Who pronounced you dead?

...What does alignment mean to you?

 

What Is It Really: Envy or Inspiration?

This morning, a friend shared with me a story about his lovely morning adventure. My first instinct was to say, "Ah, that's incredible, I'm wildly envious!" But what I truly meant was, "Wow, you're beautiful. I'm deeply inspired by your story."

I think oftentimes, we focus on what others have that we don't, and it brings us to a place of comparison rather than unity. In these moments, we're faced with a choice; we can either feel envy or inspiration. I promise you they're equally powerful.

Betrayals Erased
Swimming in the sand so dry
We lied beyond our dreams
Wishing for a star’s reply
With a spark we could redeem.

Once a beating heart so fertile
Now crushed beneath your hands
Entangled between love and peril
Bleeds lost with no command.

I’d proposed to get away from here
And you’d supplied the how
And all our trust from all our years
Could not withdraw us now.

You’d what promised you would never
Still, begged I stay and fight
I begged to learn what she’d tendered,
And for love to stay the night.

The rest shall be it all fictitious
For love has earned me grim
Could not imagine a love so vicious
Thus chose to be with him.

I dare not now undo the wrong
To amuse a boundless chase
It’s not where you and I belong
Thus our betrayals I’ll erase.

For now I must call you a friend
As you still bring me light
But dare not yet be naïve again
To render one more fight.
PoetryHillary Wen
Don't You Wonder
Do not wonder
If you are the kind 
Of woman men desert.

Please stop piling up
A list of things you are
Just so you can overwhelm
Yourself into thinking
That you’re overwhelming
To everyone, and anyone
In retrospect but desperate
To make sense of 
Something, and anything. 

Do not ask yourself
Why you keep searching
For men who stray
And do not believe that
It’s because you never wanted
Love in the first place,
Place yourself first.

And do not leap into
A relationship thinking
“It makes sense.”
Run or swim or stride 
Into one but make sure
You make sense.

I wish for you
Nothing but to fall
Like leaves to soil,
For your own soul. 

But if you are to paint
That picture, then paint it
Whole, take the entire pile
And launch it into the wall
Watch as your canvas
Melts to color and blood and
Collapses to its knees
The beautiful splash
The floor, the wall
The colors dripping
In the collision, you
Reach your tongue out
And taste the brilliant
Enchanting detonation 
Of all the different
Lives you pretended to live
The weight of the
Unlived still calling, stirring
And the lives within you
That have never met
Let the colors run
Into each other because 
That’s how new colors
Are created, and mix them
Deeply, beautifully, completely.

Your mosaic, I promise
Will make them dizzy
But imagine please, just 
For a moment these
Kaleidoscopic eyes 
Filled with ecstasy, ones
That see and dream in color
In motion, in musical notes
Imagine a pair of eyes, yours
That will motion your colors
Into a story only you sing
Because I promise out there
There are more, and by dancing
To your own colors you
Invite them to explore. 

Let your colors
Misbehave more often
Let them dance and
Not just in any soul
But another soul with
Kaleidoscopic eyes that swing
To your colors and sing
A story you can spend
Your life painting.

Don’t apologize to the world
For making them dizzy
And believe me, you’ll
Never have to apologize to him
For being soft because
Darling soft looks gorgeous
With that mosaic soul of yours
And soft will be the color
Of the eyes that hold you.  
Don’t ever wonder—if love is
Something you must ask for. 
PoetryHillary Wen