Love is not enough

29 01 2015

in thanks to my cousin, Carmel Phillips

What does it mean when he says he loves you
but does not trust himself not to hurt you?

I never thought I could go to her with this question
but she gave me the best answer anyone could.

Last night, in your drunken state of mind
you held me tightly, barely awake

Answering questions I don’t remember asking.
The next morning you told me that I can’t hold

A drunk to his words. Her answer was simple.
Her answer was ‘Love is not enough’

It is not an isolated entity. It is a lame word
the false pillar for lazy people to

Lean against in the bad times because
they do not want to be alone at night.

He called it love, but it is not a magic word
and with the wave of a wand will everything

Be perfect and magical and wonderful.
There is no abracadabra

It is four letters. It is the most overused word
in the world, regardless of language; love

Ti amo, cinta, laska, te ahora, pag-ibig
we’ve heard it all before.

Hey sooner we realise, we cover ourselves with lies
well underneath we’re not so tough, oh love it’s not enough

Love comes with values you share, with
goals you should work towards, with

Beliefs you are in agreement with,
His actions have to match the content

Of his speech.  So when he said that
I couldn’t hold a drunk to his words

What he really meant was that
I shouldn’t hold him accountable

for what he had said to me
the night before.

That he loved me, but did not trust himself
not to hurt me. It was his escape route.

So she is right.
Any old fool could fall in love.

But a wise man knows that
respect, commitment, faith and dignity

Are the real supporting pillars to the
heart-shaped coliseum we build for ourselves.



28 01 2015

It is only here
at the end of the world

where we will drink
to renew the bond made

in confined black rooms;
now at edges of large water bodies,

we mock the universe
and its possibilities but

soon we sail off
to our own corners;

tonight will keep
the same blood in our veins.


How to greet death

28 01 2015

Give Death your hand
Let him lift you to your feet
Wrap his arm around your waist
And take your breath away.

Chain yourself with tubes
attached to machines
that have more life than you
and the plug permanently fixed to the socket;
Death will still have the stronger grip.


1000 glowsticks ( in 5 parts)

17 11 2014

I’ve always thought the stars were the only ones
that were allowed the paint the darkest of skies,

that is until we became so jealous, we created
a light source that with a single crack,

allowed us to carry light to the darkest of places
without having to always look up for directions.

With a thousand sticks, we could leave our mark
in the ink the universe uses.

We could build sculptures of light
in the middle of our towns, stack them high,

spread them out, show off their versatility,
illuminating festivals and large gatherings.

The stars have never known camaraderie before.

And when we wear fluorescent bands
on our wrists and around our necks,

we look up, and we see
the stars running across the sky.

We pause, remove our bands of light
and fling! Shoot out trails of luminescence

that will fly right by the heads
of unsuspecting passer-bys,

almost touching but not close enough,
just the right distance to feel

the small ‘wosh’ of magic
that flying stars leave behind.

We try to make the stars jealous,
showing off our colours;

there are too many of them
for the starts to replicate.

We hang our colours from the treetops,
lightly illuminating the space

where the mat is laid, food is ate,
laughter is exchanged and

all the warmth you need
is found within each other.

Let’s make an aisle and a bride,
with her white dress

and combat boots could stomp down,
tear them open, have the colours

splash all over her white gown
in some radiant, glowing master piece.

The stars have never seen love before.

We think we are better. Point up. laugh at them.
They look down on us. Shaking their heads, knowing

that we think we might have the upper hand, now
being able to hold the stars’ abilities in our hands

but the stars are wise,
and that’s why we look up to them.

They know our light will last a night,
and their’s will last a life time.

Adult Poems

2 10 2014

Written for the very first Under 21 Slam in Singapore,Dec 2013, organised by Word Forward.
Finally! And Under 21 poetry slam, I was waiting for this
Kinda sucks that the year I turned 20 was the year this

U21 poetry slam started. Thank you Word Forward. This poem
is dedicated to the youth in this room, to the young poets

to hide behind bedroom doors and practice reciting in front of mirrors
who come to blu jaz on the last thursday of every month just to hear

the poems of the slammers that attend, they’re usually regulars
for those who go to open mics only to listen to badly written songs, who fear

their language would not reach out to those whose minds are numb
and dulled with the melodies of this century. this is for the some

that turn online to hear poets speak in New York, in London
to those who watch so many men and women

read poetry about their lives. Their adult lives. I’ve listened and read
too many adult poems about heartbreak and saddness and regret, read

too many poems about wishing to be young, to restart and try again,
I’ve read too many poems about the lessons life will teach you, sometimes again and again

I’ve read too many poems about the possible future. I don’t know
any poems written about the now. Adult poems are all I know.

I read them and sometimes I try and write them, trying to capture
my own heartache, my own lessons, my own regrets. But im only 20, rather

than dwelling on what has yet to happen, you and I should dwell on
what is now. Adult poems always show how adults draw

permanently in their memories, their childhood dreams.they always seem
to go back to that. Last month, I hear this poem by a girl who I think was 16

She spoke of a tree house where her greatest memories were kept and formed
her words made my ears beg for more and my heart swelled up, warmed

by their comfort. You could see everyone around her soften their gaze.
The adults looked at her, they forget that the simplest and youthful of stories always amaze.

Adult poems are not written for us, but our poems are written for everyone
everyone will and can relate to youth because they used to be us, everyone

will want the words only we seem to be able to produce.
Finally there is a platform for us to use

even in my time left I will use it as much as I can
It’s about time we raise a soda cans and took a stand

for our age and for our art.

Being yourself, truely

27 06 2010

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. My cousin helped prove that to me tonight.

You see we are all different people with different strengths and weaknesses and different talents as well. I can’t be Jonny Depp or Britney if I wanted to. I can only be me.

So just a little reminder.
Being perfect sometimes isn’t worth it.
It is not worth the mess.
Believe me or not and face the fact,
Don’t try and put it to the test.
Take what you have
And make it grow
And trust me
The products will show
Sometimes just being ‘me’
Is the best I can be 

I hope that helped everyone out tonight oh and btw I downloaded wordpress on my I-phone so I can update as soon as an idea pops into my head so you will get updates from me more often 
Take care
Cheyenne Phillips

3 11 2008

This is a very interesting website. I am starting a novel ( which may not be particularly interesting). Anyways, I was reading about this from a friends blog and the moment my novel is stable I’ll send the link.

Mean while, go to and start your own novel today.