Pablo Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist”


I’m in a poetry-writing mood. Thus, I thought I would tell this story through a poem. Hopefully, that’s okay.

blue by: ellen li

sometimes I can’t help but feel blue

I sink into the feeling of blue

elongated arms and feet swept beneath,

sadness is not a feeling that can be seen

expressed only through the color of blue.


I’ve come a long way to get to here

and my heavy guilt-ridden arms can’t even move

my mere fingertips strum a chord or two

and I sit here every day after my walk through the woods

in my solace of blue


A traveller once said to me,

“why do you do what you do?”

I barely tilt my head over to whisper

my sweet little melancholy tune,

“It’s not like me to not be so very…

so very very blue. It’s who I am

for it wants me to stay true.” 


Today, I return to this point of blue

my thin waxy skin sheds blue

under the cast of a shadow, blue forms

And from here, I have not yet moved.


I can only bring myself to clutch my guitar in-hand.

I can only breathe through my blue.

only my guitar brings a color to my life.

this is not how I really am

this is not how I really look

this is exactly what it seems to be

how I feel.

depression is the color of blue.





“I’m depressed,”

You often hear that phrase thrown about.

And pause to think…

Depressed about what?

The new shoes that you couldn’t get because they were sold out

Or, the C you got on your last exam.

You’re skinny, smart, and pretty;

What’s there to be depressed about?

Maybe that’s not what she really means…

Thrown into a society where depression means a clinical disease

In a world where the most trivial of things can cause you to be,

“Omg sooo depressed.”

And really it’s not even all that.

What she means is she’s just sad

And, not because that last pair of shoes were out of stock

Or because the grades she got were not at the top.

The only real explanation is a three letter word, two consonants, one vowel.

Sad. Not mad. Not bad. Just sad.

And really in this society, it’s not even the I-can’t-get-out-of-my-bed-because-moving-is-too-hard sad

Because that’s only for weekends and the movies.

And it’s really not the my-pet-dog-died sad.

Like I said, in the movies you see.

Prime example of Marley and Me

It’s just the eyes-glazed-over sad

The sad when you get when you feel like the most alone person in a crowded room.

When you have to be the one to listen to everyone else’s problems, but suddenly yours become an inconvenience.

Those conversations where there’s nothing you can do, but nobody wants to hear about them too.

All the feelings of being used, and always the one asking, “How are you?”

And when they finally choose to question you, all you can say is “I’m fine too…”

Have a Nice Life

Have a Nice Life


Hello friend?

Wait, should I say ex-friend?

No, I don’t know if I can even call you that.

After all the things that you’ve done,

No true friend would have begun

Good riddance to you.

Have a nice life.

Did you even feel sorry after you broke me up?

Any remorse in your soul when you left me alone?

Do you ever stare into the eyes of your best friend and wonder what they truly want?

Do you ever wake up at night and feel absolutely alone?

Do you ever lay in bed and wonder why you just can’t mentally move your body?

Do you ever question the intentions of every one of your friends?

Congrats. That’s what you’ve done to me.

Definition: Friend. A person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.

No.. I suppose not. Not when you were able to treat me the way you did

I suppose I should’ve realized by now…

The first time you accused me of stealing your boyfriend

Or the second time you called me a slut to my best friend

Or the third time you destroyed my one true passion

Or the fourth time you stomped all over me, not even just my feet

I should’ve realized.

It’s like holding a handheld gun.

You’ve set off the trigger

Little did I realize that you are the trigger.

And the bullet and the gun.

In chemistry class, I learned to reduce elements

You’ve taught me that you can reduce people too

To make them feel like pieces of trash and dirt.

Dirt. Dirt. Dirt

Like Ants that crawl through the dirt.

That’s you…

Not caring what you break along the way

Focused solely on what you can do to achieve

Not caring who you stomp along the way

Is self-satisfaction of hurting people that deserving?

I’m so glad I was your friend because if that’s what you can do to me,

What would you do to an enemy?

I don’t need your toxic shock anymore

So toxic that a BSL-4

May not even suffice.

Every comment and action I make and do

The whites of your eyes I can see too

As your eyes roll to the back of your head

Did you think that I’m blind?

Careful.. they might get stuck.

The cold glare and hard stares

Have done their share.

You happy now?

So good bye to you.

Have a nice life.

I would say it was nice knowing you, but truly it wasn’t

At least I’ve learned my lesson,

Now I just need to reverse half of the damage and its essence

You may think you’ve won and maybe you actually have

But, truly you’ve lost a whole lot more to get to that place

Think the worst of me as you please

I really don’t care anymore. Just leave me be

Maybe you’ll eventually see

This is all a loss to you and you’ll plea

Good Bye. Have a Nice Life.

My Problems Are Not Your Problems, But We Are One and the Same

**Disclaimer: This was probably one of the first pieces of slam poetry that I ever wrote. It was for an English class years back. I hope you enjoy.

My Problems are Not Your Problems, But We Are One and the Same


Lines run

Side to side like train tracks

Metal chafing in

Numbness boils through

Not like vegetables boiling

Or the tea kettle preparing for a brew

But one that goes deeper than all emotion

And, a numbness of one all alone

A deafening silence within–

“You can tell everybody”

But truly, you just can’t

Drinking in air

Air of survival

Air of pain

Nothingness that can succumb to this survival

Death runs deep in the life of your heart

Ironic or not

I can surely shout

“I wanna scream and shout and let it all out”

But no one really answers

So rather I yell at myself

A muffled internal scream of help

Those that understand

Cannot really stand straight

A painful awareness of the truth

Lines that run deep in our souls

Invisible strands within us all

Interconnected by the galaxies afar

Like the stars within her eyes,

Mirroring her soul inside

Moving past the universe

Into the substantial world

With fulfillment from materialistic substance

Is this all you truly want from this life?

“All my life I want money and power”

Eventually, that’s all that will be left

We are all one and the same

Trying to find a way with our own name

But, when we move past all that

The worldly obsessions

Grow in our hearts like a moldy sandwich left in a lunch bag

Oh, pressures of temptation

A remedy only from church

But, as the children’s rhyme goes a little like this

Here is the church, here is the steeple

Open the doors

See all the people

The people, all one and the same

A place of beauty and safety

Place of joyous songs of praise

Oh, and did I mention the judgmental glares

Condescendingly watching you as if they were above

In the seat to the left of the Lord, himself

No? I suppose that we all hold that certain pride

Because we are all one and the same

There are those that can set jokes aside

And those that can see through the fake

But, whether there is message or not

Is up to you to decide

If this is one laughing matter

Then laugh as you may please

After all, we truly need the laughter

To turn this world around

Before we all die, buried to lie

All with a bit of sorrow and shame

But, alas, a hope for joy and strength to remain

As we are all one and the same

So, whether you’re living in the world

Or with your soul supposedly above

Just remember that we are the same

My problems are not your problems

We don’t even share a place

If you reach out past this blockade

You may travel throughout that line of time

But, the world does not ignorantly wait

If you move past the world of profane

And, open your eyes to the complexity of the galaxy

Give in to what they believe to be imaginary

Move past the numb and pain–

“Say something I’m giving up on you”

If you are able to move past that stage

Then, now it’s up to you to make a change

Reposted Poem: Hope



Hope is like a burning candle within
The slightest speck of dust may ignite
But, fan the flame and it might just scarf you alive.
Yet, when extinguished completely bare,
The darkness engulfs you with its stare.
Keep the light at just right
And you shall shine. everywhere.

Reposted Poem: Life’s A Painter

Life’s a painter


Thick paint globs over my black tray
The colors swirl, dissolving away
Till tiny beads of water remain
Like the droplets of rain that cascade
the force of nature is insane.
A shower of metal– bullets that ricochet

Straight into my life. Into my soul, out through my heart.
A clean cut, no longer apart.

You began that fake plastic glob of paint
The false hope blanketing fate
Suffering and pain is what you made.

Maybe I had needed the paint to overlay
But once I realized that the colors are not here to stay
I must say
I’m glad I told you to go away.

No longer do I seek for the coarse brush bristles to cover
For I have already found a shelter.
Far far away
In another depth of display.
And, here…I have chosen to remain
Here’s why I’m meant to stay.

Reposted Poem: Fate



My heart aches for that little girl no more
She never was all that sure
But, the hopes of a future did allure

The hurt breaks through the barrier of past
But, it’s just going to show that nothing lasts.

Everything appeared like fragile clear glass
Till her world had made it smash
And, all she did feel was like trash
All their decisions just seemed so rash…

Little did she understand
That nothing would ever be at her command
And, they all knew she would never demand.

Maybe now it’s too late
In retrospect, maybe it was all just fate.

Reposted Poem: Inspired by Feel Again

This is an old poem from my old blog that I felt like posting over here on this blog. I’ll be reposting several of my old poems soon so feel free to check them out!

Feeling again–Inspired by one Republic’s song, Feel again


inside outside
heavy on the heart
nothing to feel
numbness from within
scritch scratch here we go.
machine like grinding, factories forego
I’m stuck inside the glass box of life
outside that is.
so lost, where are we all really.
what is this all in actuality.
this is reality

bursting forth
the sound of songs
melodious sonnet
I’m  no Shakespeare.
No, i’m really not anything
just keep working forward
but now it’s toward the song of dance

heart beats live
to the drums inside
here’s something to hear
menially, meaningless
but the vibrant chords sound.

And here’s to feeling again.




What is privilege?

I pondered the other day.

As my friend continued to argue with me,

Through the late night with darkness creeping,

The darkness seeping through the cracks of the car door.

“You don’t understand! You’re privileged,” I yelled at him.

Only to hear the roar of my voice echoing back at me.

“PRIVILEGE,” he scoffed.

“Privilege is a made-up,


For all of them to create some validity in taking away from you.

A goddamn excuse. Piling of ancestral debts onto me.


Privilege is having an education

Not having to live on the streets to survive your life.

Privilege is having food and drink

To inhale the breath of life

Privilege is the life that you and I have

To not worry if you’ll be shot running around the street

In the dead of night

To have dreams and passions

The ability to aspire for those

And, not screams and cries of survival

When, our biggest obstacle is not wondering if we’ll have the mere ability of life

To wake the next day without a stone of emptiness in our stomachs.

When, our biggest worries eat us from the inside out

And, not the outside in.

We are privileged.

I am privileged.

“You are privileged.”

But, even the privileged hurt.


Qualms of an artistic mind


“I create my work and I love it.
I see your work and I hate mine.”

“I write my work and I love it.
I read your work and I hate mine.”

“I compose my work and I love it.
I hear your work and I hate mine.”

You see me and hate you.

The beauty of you lost upon you.

The beauty of me lost upon me.

When the world is our canvas,

Our own artistry lost upon us admist the world .