I would write a thousand poems in your name, but I will never capture your natural and unyielding beauty.
I would paint hundreds of portraits of you, but my pieces will never match a single smile you make.
I will walk a miles without caring whether I thirst or hunger, just so I can see your face, yet my body will give up before I reach you.
I would send you exotic and fragrant flowers as a homage to your loveliness, yet their fragrance will fade, they shall lose their color, and they will eventually wither and die.
I shall pray to God every single **** day until He smites me out of annoyance that I would be able to hold your hand even for just one second, but alas He still hasn't answered this one prayer.
I will do everything for you, and you know I would.
Yet you will not even notice me.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
One day we met at a crowded street.
Your hands were on your pockets and your clothes were a bit damp.
An earbud dangling on your left ear and your eyes a hazelnut brown.
You got that vague smell of chocolate and your lips swollen red in the cold December air.
People walked past us,
hurriedly and unknowingly,
but time seemed to froze right at that moment.
Everything that's around us was a blurry picture of dismantled motion and I continued to stare upon your eyes in awe.
You looked at me quizzically and I just smiled in response.
I am a faded portrait of an identity you once knew and talked to.
I held my grip tight to my journal of poetries about you,
that I know I should give to you but I can't.
I'm there,
standing in front of my missing piece hoping that he'd remember me,
but you just shook your head and walked past me like I'm never a part of your memory.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
You were the rabbit hole
that I fell into.
They deemed you as figment
as I claimed you to be reality.
I had no valid reasoning—
I just felt that
everything was **** right.
The steps I took on my way towards you
were the steps I shall not repent—
I presumed.
The enticement of the mystery
that the depth of the rabbit hole held
electrified me.
There was no trepidation—
just pure excitement
of something obscure.
The magic I've witnessed
seemed so real to me.
The fiction that happened
was non-fiction to me.
The lies you showed
was the verity to me.
Your Cheshire cat smile
was never mischievous to me.
—until I acertained
that our love
was delusional.
The thought of us
was just a phantasm.
You were the wonderland
that I never anticipated to show.
I fell.
I believed.
I ventured.
I wandered.
I wondered.
I lost—
myself
inside the wonderland.
The steps I took on my way away from you
are the steps I repent now
for I wish I had stayed
and stayed blinded by the fantasy.
The enticement of the mystery
that the depth of the rabbit hole held
now fears me.
There is no more excitement—
just pure trepidation
of something obscure,
and of something unreal.
And today, I can finally say,
as opposed to what I claimed,
You were the rabbit hole
that I fell into.
Now I'm in severe pain
for I fell too hard—
and they deem my pain as a figment
as I claim it to be reality.
I have no valid reasoning—
I just feel that
everything is **** wrong.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 3:58 AM UTC
“Did it hurt?” he asked me. “Falling in love.” He looked genuinely curious. His eyebrows were scrunched up like a little kid trying to figure out how to play a game.
I smiled and answered, “Falling in love didn’t hurt. Falling in love feels like falling to the softest mattress that ever exists. Falling in love is insanely sweet. It controls the way you think, the way you act, and it slowly consumes you to madness. And because of that we tend to forget what we are really falling for. “It’s not falling in love that hurts. It’s being in love. It’s being in love with an illusion of what you thought was true. It's being in love and realizing that you had fallen in love with tantalizing blue eyes that’s tangled up with cobwebs of lies. It’s being in love with someone you thought would never hurt you.”
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
A word that most of the people say after doing a thing that gave them somehow satisfaction and happiness despite knowing that there is someone right there who will be hurt, who will feel broken and might destroy his/her outlook in love and in life. Someone who will probably lose his/her dignity, trust and self esteem.
Sorry is a word that most of the people say at the end of the most sad stories and broken relationships. Wanna know why? Because regretting to something or a mistake that we already did is always felt and realized at the end.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
She is a scripture of broken promises and shattered dreams. Every step felt like walking on mysteries and every breath felt like drinking secrets.
She is a mess from another mess of a family. Every moment was another sad memory and every single remembrance was already a forgotten dream.
She is a painting covered in ink. Her colors have turned black and her lines have been smeared. She is a canvas no longer wanted because of a stain she cannot remove.
And so I tell her, look up. Stop stepping on mysteries. Stop living on sad memories. Stop letting your colors fade. Become as vibrant as your soul and become a masterpiece painted by yourself.
Do not throw yourselves to the bottom of the pit because of people who want to use you only as a stepping stone. Do not bring yourselves down because of flaws you are taught to hate because those flaws are what make you different. Those flaws are what make you beautiful and those flaws are what make you see the beauty in yourself. Do not hate others because of things you do not accept and do not turn from those who need help.
You are a scripture of promises and dreams and that very thing is the reason of your existence. To love and be loved by others but more especially to be loved by yourself. Understad that the hardships you have gone through are the lessons you will remember. You are allowed an infinite number of chances to turn things around, but remember to make every chance matter.
Remember to give people your heart and remember to give yourself patience. Patience to grow and patience to love. Patience to learn and patience to accept.
Learn to live how you want to live, because your life is a story that you write with your hands. Do not let others write your story for you. Write your story with your own words, sentences, paragraphs, memories, remembrances, dreams, promises, and with your very being.
Write with your hands; write with your soul.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 3:45 AM UTC
“It’s not that easy,” she said. “It can never be easy for me to admit how much I like him. Every time I see his hazel brown eyes sparkle when he sees her, every cell of me that was hoping he feels the same way dies. Every time I see him blush when she notices him, a part of me wishing I was her aches. Every time he tells me how much he adores her, my mouth that wants to speak for my heart shuts up. Every time he wishes upon a shooting star, he catches passing by, that you could somehow notice him, I become a statue, just stuck staring at him and feeling every bit of the pain. How can I confess if I am unsure of what I feel? I don’t know if just like him or I feel something beyond that. It’s not really easy, is it? And how would I have the courage to speak up if I already know the answer?,” she smiled painfully, then released a deep sigh.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
I still love you.
I love you even if you pushed me away. I’m sure you’re having fun that the situation is like this, that I’m missing you more than ever and that I couldn’t accept anybody else because I would always look for you. Always you. After all, ever since I met you, it was always you that I would look for in the crowd.
I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye no matter how many times I’ve told you that I would be fine without you. But I'm not. I'm not okay. Since the day you left, I’ve been flooding you with messages, typing the words I couldn’t say.
I don’t know if I could get over you.
And it scares me.
Every memory of you lingers inside of me. Every touch, every smile, every hug. They're still in me. But seeing you so far away and so happy makes me realize that you don’t need me anymore.
Because you're already happy with someone else.
I've always wanted to tell you how sincere I am,
How sincere my love for you is,
But now, my heart is full of hatred on what you did to me
You treated me like I was nothing but garbage. You easily threw me away. But unfortunately, that doesn’t mean I love you any less. I'm stupid, I know. But I am still madly in love with you. I know this won’t change anything. My feelings and my voice won’t reach you anymore since you’re with someone else now, but I just want to let you know that I'm trying to burn all of the traces you've left behind. I'm trying my best to forget you too, it’s what you wanted.
But I still love you even if you left me.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
Your verisimilitude is deceiving. The memories we've shared are momentous. I thought there would be a probability of "us" but you rebuff the love I've showed and left me confused. The inception of our story is the part which I loved the most. This past few days I was lost and crestfallen by the memory of you. I never felt reluctant on every word you said and promised. But they were just words, words that will never be executed. I need to obviate myself from hoping. Our love became prosaic as you slowly repudiate this nerve racking feelings of mine. The thought of you should unyoked my mind for my heart opposes with my common sense. Thank you for watching me as I fall.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC