My Ugly Notebook

This is where I scribble my fascinations.

I go to it when I’m terrified,

and when I need to confess my truest desires.

It rescues me when I fall,

yet plunges me into lucid hazes

I so fondly wish to not wake up from.

It holds onto my hand while coaxing me

to look into the eyes of terror until it quivers like a smitten kitten

and succumbs to my will.


It’s lustrous red cover seals words inked in secrecy,

and bound in confidentiality.

It deciphers my lingo

It understands my agony

My ugly notebook is what keeps me warm on midsummer’s night

and hugs me dearly so I feel my heart palpate through its pages.

Within it, I could procrastinate forever.

I can confide in the unrefined calligraphy

signed by your’s truly.



My ugly notebook is the expression of myself

as an entity, bold. Unfazed

It nurtures my zeal and unburdens my spirit

so that I am light,

resting in the comfort of my words,

indulging in quests I wouldn’t normally

yield to with my eyes open.



This is home. It is  disorderly and messy,

but it is home.

Once in a while,

I find inspiration in these pages

and even more, I find healing.

The things I may never be able to say,

I find zenitude.


My ugly notebook is my fortress of hope in the midst of shadow chasers

It calms my turmoil soul when songs of sorrows escape into the wind,

keeping me engaged in profound chatter

so that I may not think of the dangers I struggle to overcome

in Amphetamine city.

As I plunge into the deep blues to confront my reflection.

It adjusts my gaze to the sunset on Chloé

causing fire & blood to blend into a rare hue of indigo

in order to kill the beast that is the banshee.



My ugly notebook is Alexander.


A lady never pours her own glass,

but I do.

she strolls gracefully,

relishing every step her stilettoes mold in the dirt.

So different, from my favorite suede platform boots.

Ain’t I a genuine lady?

What matters to me and what matters to you

are as different as Van Gogh and Frida Kahlo,

but then again, our shared values

are more tricky to unravel.

Your heart receives all the love it gets

and acknowledges them.

Your heart reciprocates that stealthy energy.

You care— both for those who are deserving;

and for the lot who doesn’t.

And perhaps your greatest attribute is

you can filter humor from un-comical settings.

You’ve learned to trust.

I’ve learned the hard way to not pretend.

When I look at my reflection,

a perfectly sculpted shell is all I see,

ironic isn’t it?

that I am bare, naked in your eyes

yet you’re blindsided to who I am

because I am wound that way.

I don’t like to talk with people I don’t know

or with people I do know,

a shell.

I heard you had come,

come to save the beloved,

I should be beyond ecstatic

but I couldn’t care less.

Others would shut me out,

after all, that’s what I deserve for not being

exactly like them

but not you.

Instead, you took a crayon, traced my silhouette

and colored my cold heart indigo.

If I had a dream catcher

for every time I thanked you,

I’d be dreaming with the entire constellation

above my crown.

Image source:

The Banshee

The air that fell upon her face was warm, misty, stimulating her pores to collect sweat. She was in the park that night because It was the only place she could focus. The moon was full, It occupied a vantage point in the skies, a white core, which she thought looked like a pearl encircled by a red hue; alluring she thought. She would ponder over the moon another night; but tonight, she yearned for release and she was about to scribble until was satisfied.She’d been too preoccupied and her head was buzzing with thoughts… emotions that she couldn’t seem to rid herself of:

This is a tale my father told me; 

one that I have been dying to tell.

There’s a dark place in the sanctum;

The gates are locked; never to be opened.

Rumour has it, only a maiden of pure heart

is allowed passage.

One with a heavy heart; an epitome of youth,

ever radiant, but whose smile has been dimmed;

barely flickering.

And in there, a glimpse of heaven she will discover.

She will discover……….

It wasn’t until moments later that she’d realize that something was unusual, the whittling leaves on the sand were rustling, the swings and see-saw squeaked, defying gravity as though the wind had roused them but as far as she could feel,  It wasn’t windy. She stared blankly ahead, catching a glimpse of something wrapped in black. It was only an illusion she thought, there’s nothing there but trees.Her breaths increased, as she shifted her gaze back to the skies, the red hue had expanded against the white moon and the pearly white had been completely consumed. She lowered her head back down to eye level and the hair on the back of her neck stood on ends, the black statue was considerably closer than before. Her heart pumped so hard, she could hear it, her pupils dilated but her vision blurred. She stood up briskly, a voice in her head whispered, run, but the other said, wait! you’re curious aren’t you?, She took a step forward, feigning confidence and for the first time, she could see something, a curly mess of gray hair.Her head was swarming, her thoughts disorganized. Her lips managed to form inaudible words, “who are you?”.  The figure, now apparent of a woman only grew closer and closer.


She started to open her eyes. blinked again and again; trying to focus on something, anything and gradually she became alert. She twisted her arms ball she felt was a surge of pain radiating through her shoulder blades, she was seated on a chair, bound by shackles, her hands behind her back to the chair.

“Hello,” she shrieked

her voice echoes through the walls and bounced back.

Is anybody there?… Hello?

Out of nowhere, she heard a chuckle, she stretched her neck as far as her bounded torso would allow. and then, with her neck at 90 degrees angle, a little over her left shoulder, she caught sight of a form, a man.

Help, her voice was quavering.

Her view was distorted but the man sat back against the wall at the other side of the room; a mesh wire separated them. He head hung in dismay like he had lost his virtue of hope.

“Help me,” she screamed, this time with tears oozing down the angle of her lips.

He didn’t lift his head up; instead, he reached out his arm and picked up something reflective. He began toying with it.

“There’s nowhere out,” he finally said.

“Who was that woman?”

He began to whistle; ”formed from hell by Hades himself, One look at her and you are mortalized. Your worst fear takes its form, the Banshee is coming, she’s coming for you.With each swirl of the reflective object, he repeated,”the banshee is coming, she’s coming…the banshee is coming….. this time he lifted up his head to reveal a bloody face of one who might have been a handsome man…. she’s coming for you. Can’t you see? there’s no way out.

Hopelessness dawned on her, It was the worst kind of fear that she’d ever experienced or ever thought she’d experience as she tugged and tugged against the ropes but they didn’t budge, a spark went off in her head and she turned back to the man who was still staring at nothing but cold concrete.

“I know you,” she sounded stern. Then suddenly, the doors swung open as she turned. It was the woman. Her hair, a messy gray, her eyes were red, and the corners of her lips bore wrinkles, her posture; slouchy, her nails needed manicuring, but other than that, she resembled her greatly….she might as well been looking into a mirror. “What do you want from me?” she cried

Finish it” her high-pitched voice caused the room tremble, she waved her hand and the shackles dropped from around the girl, freeing her, she handed her a pen, “finish the story”.

“I don’t know how it ends, I make it up as I go”, her double ganger retorted. The Banshee’s eyes sparkled, startling her,  She collected the pen:

The secrets in the sanctum, she must discover.

for she had been created to guard it 

and all that it holds, including herself.

But how could she protect

the secrets locked within the brazen walls

from shadow walkers and harpies

when she is yet to realize

that the sanctum is 

her own heart.

she’d wage a great war,

against the images that torment her.

She protects what she may never remember

but her secrets will turn her into

an abomination, the banshee.

the banshee.

The woman inhaled deeply, “That’s why you’re here,”  she finally said.