I have met people of all elements. Some made from fire, their touch will burn right through you. Their lips glazing on your skin, a match sparking on the side of the box. These people hold passion so diligently… One conversation with them will have your smoke alarms bursting with cries for help. I have met people of all elements. Some larger than life, some live under the sea of calm, some drowning inside of bloody rivers and some control the direction of inspiration sang from the ocean– their touch will soothe your woes. Their smile doesn’t seem happy, don’t worry, they’ll tell you that it’ll be okay because what’s life without a little sadness. They have lived inside of their own depression for so long and they have survived. They have been jailed inside of these four walls we call our thoughts for thousands of years… but still they make the best jokes because what’s life without a bit of laughter? These people hold happiness from a thread… One look into their eyes and you’ll know, even eyes that aren’t blue still holds the weight of the ocean inside of it. I have met people of all elements. Some made from steel, their touch is gun metal with the reflection of the sun, a warmth made from the purest cold, a thing so far and misunderstood, a thing we’ve called home, but have never quite made it there. These people with slivers of silver lining their lips, they speak the blunt truth about the world and how we’ve been lied to the whole time. Open your eyes, this metal– I no longer melt. Open your heart, these chains– they can’t restrain me. Open your soul, these lives that I’ve used to search for you– they don’t define me. They have scars, but this kind of metal cannot be bent, dent or scratched– one conversation and you will know, thoughts are unyielding and no, these stop lights won’t break us; we’re going to go through each pause with a fucking smile because what’s life without an unstoppable force? I have met people of all elements. Some made of smoke, their touch will be smothering, but some days it’s not so bad. They will know how to burn because they used to be so damn angry. They will know how to put out burning bridges because they were the reason why it was on fire in the first place. They are the forgiven, but also the forgiver. They will know how to pull down stars and say, this shit isn’t as bright as you. They know how to make us feel special without openly saying, I love you. They keep you around, but so do you because like smoke, it lingers and like cancer– fuck it, let’s stick around inside of these lungs and call it art, let’s paint this shit black like the sky, let’s shackle his smile into a cough, I guess that’s why they call it chain smoking. I have met people of all elements. Some made of thin air, their laughter fake, but at the same time… you want to believe that somewhere inside of this soft and light thing, there’s a breath of realness waiting to come out for the first time and you will have sworn… maybe thin air people exist because we all want to breathe the same air with people we can’t love so in between wanting them and them not wanting you back– people like this exist to remind us that even if you aren’t love by a specific… there’s always an uncertain piece of thin air waiting to take your fucking breath away and my god, they are a dangerous gulp of honesty. I have met people of all elements. Some made from rocks, their touch a reminder of your forgotten childhood. Skip me like a stone, I’d never want to leave your hands unless you threw me far, far away where the fairies came out to sing and the dragons protected princesses. Between a rock and a hard place, their friendship is all you’ll need to go on. You’re a body being tossed into the river, you’re tied to a rock and you’re sinking and sinking and sinking and sinking and you’re fucking drowning to find out if this whole thing was real, it is. Don’t worry. Your friend is there, it’s these thoughts we keep living in. It’s these thoughts we keep breathing in. We sigh and gasp and whisper and cry and live like breathing in small pebbles etched with every name you’ve ever loved… they won’t harm you. Your lungs are just full of rocks and no, you’re not sinking. This is just a dream, this is just a poem. Don’t worry, rocks can become mountains and you’re just a landscape waiting to be painted and I’m just the painter, but I paint pain and this isn’t the same as love, but if you needed to hear about loneliness you can read about my element. I’ve made friends with fire and burned myself alive. I’ve made out with volcanoes and I’m still lava crystallizing near their smiles. I’ve swallowed a whole forest fire to pretend that cigarettes could fix everything that’s wrong with me. I’ve had sex with the dreams steaming and dripping from my dimly lit candles and I swear her moans were little shards of lightning stabbing into my skin, but it isn’t the same as being alive if you wanted to feel more than you wanted to know and the truth is nothing is scarier than reading what you have written past 3 am. I’ve made friends with water and drowned myself with sorrows. I’ve licked the lips of tears and asked, why do you fall when no one plans to fucking catch you? I’ve howled under the moonlight and some nights, baby, I’m still running with the wolves. I have drowned myself inside of liquor and almost died. I have stuffed my noise with fish scales the size of your lies and I swear, nothing is beautiful once you’ve found out that you’re not really all there and some days, you never feel real. I have seen rainfall look like people and I have seen hurricanes that never got named because what’s more painful than seeing people as natural disasters… I’m a mess and I’ve used my thoughts as a mop, but this vomit of words still get caught in my throat and I’ve gagged your name because I’m sick of missing you. Some people remind us of water and remember… we can’t live with or without them. We’re made up of water, so it’s no surprise that those type of people are needed. They exist inside of you, once you’ve had a taste of what’s truly scary– when they’ve cried and those tears were as much yours. You’re so fucked. You’re so fucked. You’re so fucked. I have made friends with steel. An iron fist meant to protect me. Shield my hands from all the pain and hold my fingertips as I write this poem. You’re anxious. You’re antsy. You’re blunt. You’re sharp. You’re dull. You’re everything that metal should be, so it’s no wonder that you’ve become my armor. I’m the knight and you’re the sword. I’m the fallen and you’re the back wound. I’m the devil and you’re the pitch fork. I’m the guitar and you’re the chords. I’m the earth and you’re my precious metals being dug up. I’m the last time you’ll ever need to feel because if it’s pointed next to your head, you can pull the fucking trigger. You’re burning another hole inside of me, don’t worry lighters have never hurt me. I have seen people break, but little did they know. They’re only a little bent, bend it backwards. They’re only damaged, buy a new one. There’s only a little broken, don’t fix a thing. No, you should never fix a thing about you. You’re beautiful just the way you are. I’ve made friends with smoke and I’m fine with the flames sitting inside of my chest. I’m fine with candles. I’m fine with forest fires. I’m fine as long you’re here. I’m fine if this is the garage. I’m fine if you’re the car. I’m fine if you’re on. I’m fine if you’re fine. I’m fine. I will never choke. It’s just a little co2. It won’t kill me. It’s just smoke and we all need a break or two. I’ve made friends with thieves. They stole a few mentioned breaths, but the ones I never speak about. The ones they’ll never hear about. Those are my worries because my god, I’m airy and I’m thoughtless and I’m careless and I’m worried that you’ll never be mine again. I can’t hold you, no, I can’t hold you. I’m still inside of you like how you’re inside of me. I’m breathing in your worries as if you were the last inhaler and I’m dying to find a cure for these lungs. I’m dying to sing us to bed. I’m dying to read this poem. I’m dying to write it. I’ve made friends with mountains. I have, I have. Some people become our homes. Some people become our mountains. Some people live like so and can you really not love them? They are more than you’ll understand, but they do as landscape does… They are what they are to simply be as how nature dictated them to be and if you couldn’t love them, don’t worry, you will one day. My element? I don’t have one, but if I did. It would be words. I’m of clouds, some grey, some white. I’m rainfall barely tapping on your window. I’m a sunrise you looked past because a red bird flew past your car. I’m the passion you’ve sworn to not believe. I’m the moon smiling down on your night, it’s been a long one, hasn’t it? I’m an echo of please, just stay. I’m nothing new and this is nothing that hasn’t been said before. I’m just empty words from a mindless poet who has been loving for a decade to find out that pouring myself into the ocean is fucking useless because who can love like I can. I’m just an element that doesn’t exist, so I made myself into something that lives inside of your head and if you ever need reassurance–
—  You’re my element.

so pokémon go came out in hong kong this morning and i went on a 2 hour pokéhunt with my brother. there were 50 university students standing next to a pokéstop because someone had placed a lure there. the main symbol of the university is a gym that switches ownership, like, every 5 minutes. i gathered some friends and am about to go on another excursion in a little while. thanks for making me leave the house TWICE today pokémon go 10/10 would recommend