She can’t write.
like the tip of her pen is
imprisoned  just inches on that
white sheet drenched with nothingness.

She can’t write.
as if she began to freeze
when she is under
the line where it cuts the globe into half.

She can’t write.
like the words were nowhere near her,
and they ran faster and farther from her.

She can’t write.
as if her words was playing with her
a game of hide-and-seek, and she was it.

And still, she can’t force the words out
like note stuck in a rusty abandoned piano keys.
Restless, she remains hidden in words she can’t find.

Deep down I know this never works-

sometimes we need to to get a real good shot out into the void

before we gain control of what appears to have killed you a thousand times

we know that all these can hurt you and damage you permanently but

it doesn't stop you, you don’t stop you

and we begin to live like these stubborn creatures called humans

with a heart controlled by the mind or the other way around

we continue to feel even we feel bad things

we prefer that than nothing.

even you know you might not carry it, or handle it this time

you still hold on

to the one thing that made you feel alive once in your miserable life

deep down we both know i would be the one hurting

deep down we both know we would never work out

deep down we both know it was only i who felt in love

who fell in love

All this time, I kept a fair distance
to the things that might give much more
of what they call pain. Until
I learned, how to permanently
(or so I thought)
carve them onto a
hidden translucent white wall
reminding me that they're
always there, lurking.

Years have passed and I have gone mastered
the art of feeling nothing
(or pretending not to).

So, when you came along,
with all the glory of your humanity
and the realness of your skin
touching with mine,
(remember those things I've carved?)
they escaped like the wall had broken down
fallen down
the way I fell for you -
little by little, inch by inch
piece by piece,
me by me.

All those fears that I tried to run away from
were all stitched with your love
and I can't love you
if they're with you
but I still did. And I still will.

Even if it throws me to the oblivion
of my own sacrilegious fears,
when the ransom for all those pain
and hurt
and suffering I will get
is the infinite taste
and satisfaction of my desires
by your love.

*By your only love.

sometimes it scares me
that I have been too strong
that no one ever sees that it rains
on me even the sun
is striking at the sky.

the fear grows as
the years pass and no one dares
to know the real side of me
to transcend all my flaws
and to accept me
like a lost child.

and I continue to weep
for all the time that I am alone,
in this fight called life.
And soon, I know I am near the end
where I lost,
and I am gone.

I am one, a particulate suspended
in an infinite collection of
breathing stardust
alone standing on
earthly surfaces.

And you are the life I began
to understand in the poetry of
your words that I long to
**** in and inhale for the rest
of this illusionistic superficial reality.

it's that feeling of a thousand ants
roaming around your neck,
your feet, or anywhere.

it's that taste of a new thing,
of a new delicacy your head cannot see.

just the thought of wrapping your thoughts
around how people are able to look at it
shames me.

and i begin to release
whatever hatred you gave me

to all these uncomfortable layers
beneath me.

As I light this third one,
your face came up to my mind.

I suddenly wished that your love is like smoking.
When I desired to let in the smoke,
the addictive nicotine of your love
inside my pitiful tired airbags,
I could easily tell myself
to exhale the white
lung filtered ghost
out of my system,
out of my life.

But your love doesn't work that way.
Love is inking your name on my skin
deep through my bones (if it can).
Living in me, thousands of needle bites
In each second piercing through who i am
for the rest of my breathing years.
And through the pain, your name is complete.
Yet when you leave,

your name, your love,
will remain
in blank ink
on my young
cigarette-fumed
skin.

There are voices inside my head. And for the first time
I realize, they weren't those demons I have believed.
Rather, it was mine. It was me, the whole time.

Prejudices and judgments
I have tattooed by myself,
on myself.
They sting like a thousand needles
puncturing through every bubble of idea
my mind blows.

They imprisoned me.

I have done this with myself.

You *like an insect-
you barely touched my skin
yet I felt your wings
flutter in time with each
of my
heartbeat.

defined by people who
doesn't matter
to either you or me
but we still live
in shadows of their words-
pinned and pained down.

those few little words
uttered by strangers
shook my sanity -
pulling strings and
puncturing the little bubble
caving my mind.

I know they,
their words,
shouldn't matter
but can you blame me
when all the people in my life
are all strangers?

Like everything in this world wounds
Around the thought of us,
Whether pain and touch, or just
Sweet serendipitous moments we shared.

All will be stored inside my little mind,
Never will it be erased, and I know troubles will come but never will
Denying you, my love, be in my vocabulary.

Like all the stars, in rainbow colours hidden
Under and over thousands of horizons meeting
Seemed nothing, beside you, dear, I will forever feel
H**eavenly around our intertwined bodies, and kisses.

tears come down my face.
not a usual thing for a person like me,
born pained, and living numb.
all i want is to run from all that i am,
and all i ask is that will you come with me?

but my fear is that, you will say no. like
everyone else. no one ever stayed,
and
i got a feeling that I, myself,
want to leave this body of mine.

what you said is that we are the same,
dying inside, smiling outside.
no one will ever know the difference between us,
but i do, i really do.
i would give all my veins
and bleed for you,
but you wouldn't take a scratch for me.

the dream of mine to go away with you
will remian mine, and never shared with you.

the car oozes its rusty roars
as we make our way
out of this town, fleeing.

we held each other's hands,
you keep your eyes on the road
while i keep crying like an idiot.

to be perfectly honest, i didn't know
the real reason why there are tears,
it is because i am happy with you? or scared of this decision?

all i know is that i love you,
all i know is that i am scared,
all i know is that this is wrong.

but i continue, trying to prove
myself wrong. and for the past two years
i have never been so wrong in my life.

we were not brave souls, the ones you said.
we are young, hormonal, and
purely stupid.

our plans, my life, and yours
are wounded intricately
together.

you move, i move.
you breathe, i breathe.
you touch me, i touch you.
you stay, this time
I go.

it is impossible for you to understand
that we got scared of what's beyond.

but sometimes the people worth fighting for
aren't worth loving anymore.

This game we are
playing tires me out.
You decided to call it 'hide and seek';
we are the players - you and I, and all of them.
But I question this little game of ours,
everybody's hiding.
Nobody
is seeking.

Through the dark,
I let my eyes adjust.
I did my best
to stay out of sight.
Behind the curtains, below
the cabinets, and until now
hidden in these words.

We remain unseen.
We remain hidden.
No one wanted to be
found.

everything would be easier if we were both in love

You were the slow death
I was wishing for,
like this stick
the third, the forth
you are ever more

the same ****** thing.

I inhale you in,
as I do,
I'm slowly killing you
and you are slowly
eating me.

I burn you and you burn me
more than you intended be.

at this glorious point,
we are mutual.

at last, we are now.

I am falling in love
not into him, nor with anyone else.

But with how he can hide
your meanings
in a couple of left-aligned words.

But with his thoughts, his ideas
written on paper
in his awful hand-writing.

But with the songs he made me listen to,
they didn’t hurt my ears,
something else was hurt.

But with how he say my name,
like it’s his.
(Why does he do that? How?)

And to all his art,
especially the written ones.
His words can open doors to worlds
I didn’t know existed.

But I am not in love. I may be
falling for him.

I lie awake not
thinking of you,
but remembering
us.

The first afternoon I can recall,
you grabbed my hand
and took me outside.
You surprised me, I said.
Because that noon
is the first time
I saw that lake.

The second afternoon I can recall,
you called me by name
and we went outside.
I brought you lunch, and
we drank some
mind-boggling liquid
which you stole from that old man
living beside that lake.
We lied on the grass, and
if that was not a dream, I hope not,
I felt your breath with mine, and your lips
on mine.

The third afternoon I can recall,
you went to my bed
and shook me awake.
I was mesmerized to see you again,
but you’ve changed.
The colour in your eyelids, your cheeks,
and your lips was artificial.
If you haven’t spoken, I
wouldn’t be able to recognize you.
Sitting at the edge of my bed,
you’ve said the name of that lake,
and I knew  it was you still.

The fourth afternoon I can recall,
you were 18 and still cried on my shoulder
not because you were hurt, but
because you were happy  getting married.
Flowers, chairs, and a priest
waited  for you beside that lake.
I was about to cry at that moment, knowing
it wasn’t me you were marrying.

The fifth afternoon I can recall,
you yelled at me,
“I can’t live this way!”
I asked you why, but
you didn’t tell me, you showed me.
That kiss beside that lake was wrong.
In all of the reasons why it was wrong,
I found one which is right.
You loved me the way I loved you.

The sixth afternoon I can recall,
you left me
alone beside that lake.
Yes, you loved me, but
as you have said you need to love yourself more.
I can’t hold you any blame for leaving,
I understood, and I lived with the promise
that you’ll come back to me –
in one piece or even in ashes.

The seventh afternoon I can recall,
you were barely alive.
You looked old, with dark circles around your eyes.
You hid them with glittery make-up.
“This lake haven’t changed.” you said.
I looked at that lake,
its beauty and all its glory
looked nothing
next to you.

The eighth afternoon I can recall
was the worst of them all.
You didn’t call, you didn’t leave,
you didn’t cry, you didn’t go to my bed.
And you weren’t barely alive.
Someone wrote me a letter, not you,
to take you where you and bring you back home.
You didn’t find yourself, you’ve lost it
To yhe hero
in your veins, who ate you in your sleep.

This afternoon,
I carry you, with all but  my shattered heart,
inside a jar.
My tears are one with that lake,
but I’ll bury you beside it.
I know you’re happy.
Your soul one with that lake.

Good news: I got into a Literary Folio as a Staffer for Poetry section in my University. It is a great oppurtunity for my writing.

Bad news: I cannot update often since i would be submitting my works to the Folio.

Good news: There is a chance that I would be published :)

Bad news: I won't be able to post right away but if my works will not br approved i will post it here.

five flights of stairs
i don't mind

four unmet eyes
i don't mind

three minutes of silence
i don't mind

two silly questions
i don't mind

in any case
one wishing
one dreaming

that somewhere near
somewhere here

she could belong
counting on you

they say 'always be honest'
only to judge what's the truth.

with their eyes, eager to hear
the truth is nothing they fear
they'll make you comfortable
watch you, communicate with you

but when you open your mouth,
breathe out the ******* reality of your life

their eyes are on you
condemning your whole being

the truth comes with a bit of a sting
it's you accept it and let it all go
or you swallow it, with all the jagged edges
of each side down your throat
it's just a sting, it's a bite from an ant
or a stab in the back,
a kick in the guts,
a touch from reality.

and i predicted that this would happen,
that I'd do this to myself.

and I predicted that you would run,
now you've touched my truth,
I knew you weren't ready,
and I am just glad
that whatever happened,
or 'could have happened'
is done, before it has begun.

and I predicted that this would happen,
and I predicted that you would run
once you knew the truth,
now,
you're backing down.



*****

Isn't it wonderful how we say
what is real, what is not, and what is what
over the view of what we know and what we don't
Only to discover that what we believed had long gone
moved on
In situations we find ourselves stuck, you are stuck
we pretend that it's worse, that's it's different
but all the way it wasn't
it's a creation of your twisted mind
sculpted by the hands of a twisted man
We try our best to see what's beyond
what's far, what's in the future
predict the utopia, forgot
that life isn't all what you want
and that's when we start
to feel what we want,
see only what you want to see
and for all the mercy in the world
you exist only in the parameters of your own mind
unreachable
your reality is far from what is real
what are you, who are *you

can’t stop thinking about your hands
and how badly I want them
intertwined with mine
but there’s more to that, them
that I’d like to feel
I want to touch them
feel the creases, its lines
follow every path that they’ll take me
and course through your skin
your bones, especially the tiny ones
that keeps them together
you keep me together
caress your fingernails
painted to match the colour of your skin
the top of your hand,
which beats into veins visible at touch
the narrow holes on your knuckles
and the spaces in between them
they are perfect
it feels perfect
you are perfect
and in every inch your fine fingers extend
they’re the only ones
who could touch me
and the only hands
that will forever be soft, careful, and loving
and no matter what cuts its skin
your hands, love
hold the life in me, and keeps my soul
caged in your soul
your hands will forever
hols me still
holding you

Loving should be effortless
in a way that you need not to impress
to change or to bless

I feel like this when I'm with them,
I say what I say, in an instant
what comes into my mins, I say
or what has been buried deep
waiting for the right catharsis
of all
and it's effortless
I don't mind about my words
I don't filter my thoughts
They read me as the book I was printed
no less, always more
With them, no plans are needed
only the presence of each
peculiar perspective
that each of us contain

I don't feel that with you,
and even I do
I feel like it was
congregated,
never natural

now why is that?

i think I've seen heaven
dressed in partial colours
hiding behind your eyes
i felt it in your touch
sending shivers to my bones
giving me thoughts
i never knew i could fathom
and even I felt every kind of pain
it is you i see
what heaven would be and would feel like
new, fresh, and heavenly.

i think i've seen hell
my blood in my veins
through my heart
that beats only for you
but you don't care, you don't mind
that each pain i feel
burns in vain
but you don't care, you don't mind

*because as I've seen, as I've felt
heaven is nothing
and
hell is my everything

we follow all these certain rules
obtain all these certain goals
but for who? but for what?
for those who set up all those?
for those who created all
these images of a perfect life
these images of an ideal one
where you are allowed
to commit mistakes
but when you do,
they’ll condemn you
like you've never
done anything
right in this
life they
have designed
for you?

it all began
when you decided
to make me fall in love with you
and it made sense, because I liked you
and you liked me back

for all the senseless wisdom I had
you made me who I was afraid of
careless, and ready to give back
all the **** care I forgot
about this world

it never felt right, but it never felt wrong
i did not realize it until
everything fell apart
in a blink of an eye
I am a stranger to you

Do you know how does that feel?
ignored, when I thought
I was something special?
something you like? and
something you want?

haven't you i figured it out?
that i fell into a bottomless pit
no one and nothing
to even catch
my sorry as for me

haven't you figured it out?
that i fell for you
and it's your fault
but you left me, saying you love me
but then i was nothing to you

but i'm glad it's done
buried in the past
blurred in vision
you hurt me, dear
but I forgive you

for all I care,
I know you won't rot in hell,
but at least in my memories
*you'll regret, that once in your miserable life
you took me for granted

what is so special about this night?
is it the ending year? or
the memories you take
as the year passed
have you changed?
have you achieved your goals?
or are you just like me
disappointed at myself
but so far and at least
we made it through another
and saying hello to the other

the question really is,
are we going to do better?
are we going to make it better?
are you going to make it better?