Several books sat on the bookshelf
Yet you picked one.
Why?
What made you pick it?
Why didn’t you pick the one beside it?
Why must it be this one?
Why must it be me?
I sat quietly like the books
In the shelf,
My cover was hidden from you.
Yet you stretched your hands and picked me?
Did you find anything special in me?
But those other books beside me were also special,
You should have tried them out.
But you refused,
You wanted me.
At least That’s what you said.
You took me home, and make me yours.
Read me every single days,
Till I become part of you.
But then you don’t read one book forever,
You pick another when you get tried.
You got tried of me.
And returned me to the shelf you found me,
And went for the next book after me.
The same book I had asked you to choose
Instead of me.
What was so special about me?
What made you pick me first?
I was getting used to your laps
Only for you to bring me back to
The dusty shelf.
To pick another.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 3:15 PM UTC
I picked dry flowers as my favorite thing
And they called me weird.
I bet they don’t know what’s weird.
Lying to everyone about being okay
when a day has never passed
without me emptying all the water from the sea that lay beneath me.
This is weird.
Gathering all what they see as less valuable
just to comfort myself
that maybe someone will come to me
even though I might be nothing but an empty vessel.
But just as I gathered dry flowers
and loved them,
They might take me
and love me.
I guess this is what is weird
‘Comparing myself with dry flowers, wishing I could be more than dry flowers.’
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 2:37 PM UTC
The rain knows how to play the exact music I need.
If not, tell me why it’s raining the same time
my eyes is raining.
Tell me why the sky is forming
When my tears are forming
Tell me why they leave
The same time I need them the most.
Tell me why I hate myself so much
When all I need is love,
Excess love, when I don’t even have little.
…More than dry flowers
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 2:18 PM UTC
I hate the fact that your voice gives me butterflies 🦋
I hate the fact that I rush to reply your messages
I hate that I smile when I’m talking to you
It’s a long distance thing
I smile even when you get me angry
Your annoyance makes me blush
Your laughter replays in my head like the lyric of a song I learnt newly and can’t forget
Your voice, a home I found
The way you call me, different from everyone’s
I hate that when your message pops I rush to reply as if it’s something I’ve been waiting for all my life.
Actually it is.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 12:27 PM UTC
I’m sad
I don’t want to, but I can’t help it.
The year just started but I’m sad already
I don’t want to be sad
I love happiness, but I’m sad
Jan 7, 2025
Jan 7, 2025 at 5:56 PM UTC
I wonder what it feels like to love and be loved in return.
I’ve never experienced love
not the kind of love that runs deep.
I’ve had a number of crushes, but none have fallen that hard for me.
It makes me wonder
am I good enough to be loved ?
Jan 7, 2025
Jan 7, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
They said I’m vulnerable,
That I always apologize.
Even when I’m wronged,
I apologize.
I know I’m vulnerable,
And people use me a lot.
They think I’m not aware,
They handle fragile hearts like glass, cracking them without care.
Because they are weak and easy to put aside.
People know I’m vulnerable,
But I will never let them use me again.
I will stand up for myself,
Say no to things I don’t want,
And caution anyone who tries to mess with me.
I won’t do anything I don’t like for anyone,
I won’t displease myself to please anyone.
Because I’m vulnerable, not stupid.
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 4:40 PM UTC
In English, we say,
“Can I be a child again?”
But in poetry, we say,
“Take me back to when
I didn’t have to think about tomorrow before sleeping,
To when I could smile without reasons,
To when failure wasn’t a thought,
And to when I acted freely,
Without hesitation or fear.”
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 4:18 PM UTC