All aboard the rails conducting my imaginative process,

Prequel to the formation of yet another piece,

Bringing to the forefront vivid imagery

Displaying in thirty-nine words or less of this verse

The unknown heights soared by my creative prowess.


Fully immersed in a world for words

What you choose to see as a line

Is yet another portal I weave,

All in a bid to connect your world to mine.


You speak to me, but I don’t hear a thing,

Complete absorption in the art

Mutes the beauty of your sound, my dear,

And because my mind sees the prior restriction as finite

It relishes in relinquishing my fundamental understanding

Of space and time.


Dear reader,

I know yarning the golden thread that holds my mental state

Is an admittedly tall task, so before it becomes a drag, 

I ask you to take your time settling into the comfort of my slipstream

Allow me to fulfil my conscious choice;

Allow me to take the brunt of all the creative expenditure

All in the hopes of sparking hope and inspiration

In the hearts of those that are beginning to lose it.


– O.D. ©2019


Art by: Artsammich


If I inspire one person to write something. I’m happy.

I often don’t write with the intention to inspire, but I hear how my friends on WP tell me some of the things I say are inspirational. That used to be the case, but I changed up my writing style to be a reflection of me and not what I believe will attract the most attention or traffic.

It’s freeing writing what you want when you want to write it. Do not ever let anyone police you on how to express your words and how you feel.

The reason I’m saying this is because I want to clearly state how much a don’t like manipulative people. I really don’t like manipulative people. Like, I really, really don’t like manipulative people.

“Hey reader. Just wondering, did I ever, by any chance, tell you how much I don’t like manipulative people?”

Perhaps I was “lucky” enough to grow around manipulative people, so I find it easy to identify manipulation from a mile away. (Before anyone freaks out. My childhood was amazing, so were my teenage years, the manipulators were around me, but it did not ruin my life; it added to it through experience)

Manipulators will make you question your sanity, make you doubt your capabilities just to make themselves feel better and control you. If you have read much of my work you will see how I am nauseated by such behaviour. I was often manipulated, even in my college years. Nothing major, just small tweaks to the way I thought about things. Subtle nudges in unfavourable directions. 

It becomes clearer and clearer who your manipulators are when you start breaking off and doing your own thing. I identified one of my manipulators through my writing, It was all on the one week I had decided to stop seeking advice and critiques from them. All of a sudden my work was now, “sounding cocky… self-serving… not giving hope” according to them.

That’s all well and good but… is abiding by those rules what truly makes good writing?

See, I believe in writing what I want. The very essence of thinking openly and exploring ideas runs at the risk of offending someone, but it does not mean the ideas should be censored as a result. A basic right I had failed to identify early on in my college years. My manipulator identified how (at the time) I loved being the good guy, the hero and latched onto that to make me question my own talents. By painting these bad traits in my writing (the one which was done without their involvement) my manipulator was looking to regain control. Fortunately enough, it only pushed me further, motivating me to write more of this so-called cocky, not giving hope stuff till I reached a point where they realised they had no say in what I did in that area. Only to realize that even without their help, I am capable of finding readers interested in what I have to say (and that my writing was “Inspirational”)

But the thing about manipulators is they are persistent, especially once they have tasted having power over you. Which is why my manipulator moved to try and control a different part of my life. Yes, it’s hard getting rid of a manipulator, dear reader.

Especially when they are family …

To be continued…

A World Untouched.


An inkwell born of a world unseen, a world untouched;

With the exception of my curious and far-reaching mind.

Refilled only, by a dose of self-prescribed meditation –

Sounds close to medication – might as well be, if not received on a daily;

In other news, before I take the next step in combining the parts I have laid out

I ask myself what my words are worth if I spout them

Without the intent to?


The resulting image of my character terraforming

Can, in essence, be likened to the evolution

In my chosen style of writing;

“One or the other” is perhaps

The most blasphemous phrase I would associate

In describing the tether that exists 

Between me and my poetry.


Adjoined, we are, in our conveyance of an inner light

An inner light, flickering in the cove that serves as my heart’s chosen habitat.

Where is this chosen habitat I hear you ask?

Where else besides that inkwell, born of a world unseen;

Of a world untouched.


– O.D. ©2019


Art by: Andead






Where does something start and everything else begin?

Do we literally matter because we cover space,

Or is the definition just another coincidence?

If no thoughts are original, where is the source that plants

The seeds cultivating genius concepts

We can’t even begin to comprehend?

Are we happy, or do we pretend to be?

Do we love, or are we afraid to be alone?

This, and many other things I meditate over

Even as I do something as simple as brushing my teeth.


– O.D. ©2019


Art by: Ren-Li

Realm Of Exactitude.


Nevermind language; all words are priceless,

If only because once they leave the tongue

Taking them back becomes a whole new narrative;

Furthermore, the meaning behind each one,

With the consideration of timing and tone,

Is entirely relative.


As I take a moment to build a piece,

Each word I place in sequence, to the best of my ability;

All based on a metric that necessitates its placement

In the containment of each sentence; 

Ultimately, letters are allocated accordingly

In a deliberate attempt, to create meaning and order,

On the abacus, that is my page.


– O.D. ©2018


Art by: Frayde


Creating meaning out of anything and everything; I am in love with the creative process.

It’s interesting how you can write something intending for it to convey a specific idea but it actually sparks a different meaning in others. Some people may think of that entire situation as vexing, but for me, that’s where the beauty lies.







Anonymous: Online.


The power of cyberspace,

Honestly, who can doubt it?

What you read now could, in essence, be the exact representation

Of long-lost texts recycled and relayed to your screen

Just for you, to peruse through; 

Point is: anyone can be anyone — anything,

That works either in your favour, or against.


With enough tact, I could recreate myself;

Morphing into a hero of sorts, bridging inconsistencies

To validate beliefs, at my behest,

Bringing about yet another “definitive” doctrine

All to feed nothing but my messiah complex,

Telling people lies, giving hope where I absolutely see none;

You and your enlightened mind may see that scam

From a mile away and think of it as elementary, dear Watson. 

But that matters little when there are still those

Who cling fervently to hope and are easily exploited for it.


– O.D. ©2018


Art by: Kamikaye


The internet. It’s crazy. A lot of good and bad comes from this place.

Try thinking about someone going on the internet for the first time in their life, how will their experience go with the internet’s current state? Just something I was thinking about earlier today.






All In The Transition.


“Perhaps I ought to slow down with all this writing”

Is what I said never,

Bored. I could perchance re-adjust my priorities, just for a bit,

Strive to be the best at the articulation of this medium,

Juggling the bounds of literary designs with whoever you think

Is at the very top. Win. And as I hold that gold medal up high

Proceed to tell you what that glittery prize is worth to me;

“Absolutely nothing” — Is exactly what I told her

When she asked me what she could give in return

For all the love she receives; her existence is already a gift,

For those wondering who she is, do not ponder too long,

After all, I write about her with the frequency

Of a baton exchange in a snail relay; 

Why? she is already amazing, and honestly,

Whether I try to say anything,

Chances are it would never be enough.


– O.D. ©2018


Art by: Sylar113


Leave it to me to use a segue as a platform to talk about my girlfriend lol I hope everyone is having a pleasant Wednesday 🙂 . 

“Spread love”

“Fear no one; respect everyone”








With Each Line As A Freestyle.


I could probably start this piece by taking you,

Yes, you, dear reader, on a journey,

Twisting and turning; navigating,

Through the spaces of an asteroid belt

But —  no, let us leave that for another day

A day whose arrival is entirely dependent 

On the cards, I am dealt.


How about we visualize an open field

Scented by various flowers from all over the globe

The image of a perfect day, as fresh as a cool breeze,

Conducting and urging me on to seize the moment

But — If we were to do that, it would be cheating,

The prior image serves as a vivid description encapsulating

The backyard of my mind palace; an archived impression,

I unearth on my saddest days;

And I would like to think I am not sad at this moment



Ooh I know – I know, let us talk about

What is going on, right now, in my mind, as I write,

Each line, of this sublime — (but is it really sublime?) —

Piece of poetry, right in front of me;

Like an alcoholic, relapsed, back at the bar again, drowning

Intoxicated from the impromptu strokes — Is the image

That best illustrates, the entirety of an analogy, I would use

In describing my unhidden fixation on creating meaning

Out of nothing — (or something) –;

Anything, to keep this train of thought on rails;

I go deeper into thought, sort of like Alice,

Tumbling down the rabbit hole, except there is no bottom

Actually, a better example of how I’m feeling would be

A comparison with that surreal dream, of falling off a cliff,

And right before you hit the ground;

You don’t wake up.


– O.D. ©2018


Art by: Sylar113


Decided to freestyle with this piece, writing every line as I thought of it. Ended up being a direct representation of how I think of things as I am writing (for those interested). I was re-reading this entire poem after I was done and noticed that it started on a lighter note and slowly became darker. I honestly did not see that transition coming, perhaps there are some thoughts at the back of my mind I have yet to confront (hmm…who knows?)

“Deerstalker anyone?”



Let that light shine my way

Prism that I am,

I will reflect, refract; bend light

Allowing it to pass through,

Appearing behind me, bearing pigments

Of a long lost promise, whose transparency I direct

To the entirety of your planet; 

My choice in the delivery of a preface

Naturally indicative of how I pass layered words

To the rest of the world

With nothing but flying colours.


– O.D. ©2018


Art by: Pauline Kam





Oh how fulfilling it is,

Severing — at unintelligible speeds —

That which takes pleasure in planting weeds

In the place, meant to facilitate,

Room for food, pivotal for the soul.


Before it takes its insatiable toll

From nothing — I materialize a gas mask

For the toxicity, a chaser for the negativity,

An anchor for the stowaways attempting to hitch a ride,

Without your consent, at the expense,

Of your vessel’s individuality.


 Let the soul fall asleep at the wheel

Instead of governing your vessel, but be ready to own it

Reluctantly or ecstatically, choose to

Explore the unknown or blindly follow others.


Open your eyes to what surrounds you

Take an active part in your own existence

Without making excuses for others to take control

All in a bid, to relinquish, responsibility

For the choices, you are yet to make.


– O.D. ©2018


Art by: Sylar113






When I blossom, basking in the light

We have all been so gracefully provided

Should I, perchance, stop where you stopped

In the interest of keeping you motivated?

If only, because people like me, being anything

Beyond your reach, is unfamiliar, to you

And everyone around you?


I ask, not to seek permission

But to help you understand

How ridiculous this all is; seeking refuge

In the comfort of your ignorance

Is not something I would advise you

To take much pride in.


Daily, I meditate in a place of my making

I spread my arms at the periphery of the worlds’ end

Where the smallest breeze could push me;

Taking the time to inhale the freshest breath

At the very edge of life and death.


Afterwards, I return

With a newfound perspective on reality,

Giving my talent unseen complexities

That can be likened to the most elaborate embroidery.

All that, for poetry? Yes, and at times, a single line,

Sometimes, it is never entirely enough

Excessive? Maybe, so believe me when I say

Feeling intimidated by my prowess

Is entirely your choice to make.


I mean this in the nicest way:

If I am not for you, “That is alright”

If you hate me, I should probably care, but I don’t”

The only service I feel I owe the world

Is being true to myself, not spreading hate;

In this life we live, If you were to ask me

What I find most beautiful, I would tell you that

“No matter how old, or wise we get,

We will never stop learning”


– O.D. ©2018


Art by: Sylar113