When inquired what love was
I believed it to be merely infatuation,
an excitement sculpted by the sheerness
of gazing, but upon meeting
the blue-eyed boy, but an acquaintance
at first sight, he became what I believe to be now,
a love I would trek the world for,
the blue-eyed boy, completely and entirely
beautiful, in both soul and skin,
will forever and ever so more thereafter,
carry my heart in his hand, and I, his in my mine

For it blossomed from the unforeseen,
a tale neither expected yet welcomed tenderly,
a love so completely wonderful it aroused pain
at heartbreak, a loneliness in limbo, an absence in life,
alas, the soul felt abandoned in mist, as if lost with
a map, trusting the direction of a broken compass,
still, it was a tug and a pull and push,
the tug of the soul,
the pull of a heart,
the push of realisation,

But it was not the need for someone, something,
it was his mesmerising blue eyes,
the bite of his lip,
the sweet widened eyes when surprised,
the warm arms engulfing my body,
the sensual kisses on my neck,
the love I feel at his gaze,
the sense of bliss as our bodies melt into one,

Quite candidly, most honestly,
most sincerely,
I am madly in love with the blue-eyed boy

"Tell my mom I love her," She wrote, midnight creeping in,
The chill of the night swarmed me,
a gut-wrenching, stomach clenching knowing,
Flashing lights in the distance,
minds chaotic, frantic, dazed,
banging and banging and banging
The time flew, or jumped, or vanished,
and I saw the cuts, the tears, the pain,
the utter nothingness behind sad orbs,
The blood dripping from her neck and arms,
slowly, drying, as if taunting the scars,
she said nothing, only cried, wept and screamed,
Beside her, I stand as she says
"I don't regret it at all."

perhaps i linger in the perhaps
perhaps i shouldn’t
a limbo in which i await
full of disastrous wonder
a beautiful sense of denial
perhaps i linger in the perhaps
the perhaps of us
the knowing of no hope
of no trust
but perhaps
it could happen
just maybe one day
I will stop lingering
in the perhaps of us

Like a fever dream
this feels
like staring into a blank screen
watching myself, of her behaving like me
but there is this sense of the missing
of the moments lost in empty white rooms
of insanity lingering in the back room
of a looming loneliness upheld by a sole
red candlelight,
Maybe its the constant loudness,
or the fog outside,
maybe its the distance from home,
maybe, just maybe,
I am losing my mind

I touch the keyboard, my mind in scrambles,
Words become a knot of confusion
and I cannot express the very emotion in my chest

Gone yet here
with little proof
of existence, of the
warmth breathed out,
of the honeyed words
left beyond demand
Gone they are
but always
here

Just eat
Just eat and you'll be cured
Eat and the voice will stop
Eat and you won't look at the fat anymore
Eat and you won't think of the imperfections
Eat and you'll be happy
You will pretend nothing ever happened
You won't think of the tears
or the exhaustion or the anger
That's what they told me,
Just eat and it'll be okay
How funny it is,
to believe in ignorance,
in those who think they know,
without experience
funny
the voice never stopped

It rained and poured, and I drowned
A sunken heart, a suffocated heart
They warned me
But I listened to only your voice
Your soothing voice amid the raging storm
It was bliss, the cigarette I swore I’d never smoke
Alas here I am
the person I have become
A stranger
Broken down,
pitied
Devoured by your past
But a remnant of the ash you discarded

I think
I'm no longer scared of La Llorona
no longer afraid of vast forests
no longer terrified of the dark
no longer wary of dimmed staircases
afterall
I'm not a child anymore






so why does the shadow in my
closet feel so real?

I plan every argument and confession in my head
fantasize about every fleeting crush, every job interview, every friend
yet
I seem to get everything wrong

They say
be the protagonist
but I've never been popular
never been someone to admire
I've just been me
a side-character
an ignored friend
someone to push around, make fun of,
someone who is indisputably lost in their friend's story

That's me now
but
it won't be me forever

It’s the way my body looks in a mirror
my nose not small, not perfect
stretch marks splattered on my stomach
hips wide, fat on my tummy,
eyes not big, but brown and small,
Eyelashes short and lacking fullness
Never meant to be an Aphrodite

But it hurts more when I look at myself
not in a mirror, not in a photograph,
but more at my mind
the way it fills with anxious thoughts at the sight of men,
the way it constructs doubts and insecurities when I talk,

I’m an open book
But my pages are tinted with messy handwriting and crumbled parchment,
My words are muddled and chaotic and filled with every need to make myself a better person,

When I look into that mirror,
propped on a white wall,
I don’t see potential,
I see a flawed girl
trying always to be anything but herself

Sometimes
I feel alone
I feel it on my skin
like my body knows
of the empty promises
and the hopelessness echoed
by my thoughts

I've been wondering
whether you feel that too
But then again,
your body needs a heart
to feel anything at all

I wrote your name on paper,
Spent nights on phone calls and texts,
filled daydreams and dreams with
distorted memories of you,
Justified your distance with work,
Reasoned your temper with life,
Defended your insults with pride,
Because you were perfect for me,
But it only took a second, a nanosecond,
a Picosecond, for you to throw me away.

Just like that.

It wasn’t me, you said,
And you were right.
It was you.

And I watch the sunlight curl around my finger,
feel the wind on my cheek,
hear the waves falling on sand,
I sense it all,
the ocean on my tongue,
the sun in my eyes,
the wind on my skin,
I feel it like an embrace,
like it’s telling me to let go,
and just like that, I do

They call it the ****, the ******, the Cho-Cha,
the Cooch, the ****, the ***** Fly Trap, the
Yahoo, the Honey ***, the Pink Taco, the Woo-Woo,
the Foof, the Hairy Potter, the Flaming Lips,
the Sticky Bun, the Pecan Pattie, the Field of Dreams,
Too long women have hidden from it,
the big V, she who shall not be named,
Call it by what it is,
In whatever shape, form or color,
It's a ******, get over it.

I was purchased for beauty,
An orchid instead of a sunflower,
For pure and timid beauty is a natural beauty,
And I, stocked in that kitchen, let eyes linger,
I let fingers graze my petals, until alas,
I was worn out, my petals fell,
turned brown and crumbly and ugly,
so no more eyes lingered, no more fingers
grazed, no more beauty kept,
My stem fell, dried by the aimless
torture of pointless living,
Irrigated only for show, only
for maintenance of beauty, yet
my core was already rotten,
already old, already exhausted,
I was discarded without a second
glance, my petals gone,
my stem, broken and I, gone.
A last hurrah for the life
never lived.

Waves clash
in the distance,
And I feel it,
the Peaceful melancholy,
My skin dries, turns red
beneath the sun,
I squint, blink the
sand out of my eyes,
and watch the ocean
unfold into a serene
chaos, I realize I
wish to be it when
I die,
I wish to become
the sea

I am exhausted of talking about love,
I find it everywhere, constantly,
So much so that I develop hate towards it,
But I don't hate it, I envy it,
No, I envy anyone who has it, yet
I am a hypocrite,
When I feel love, panic obscures it,
I run away due to inexperience,
I flee from it due to my insecurities,
I hope it goes away because my heart beats too fast,
Days later I feel it, regret,
It forms a lump in my throat and I begin again
the cycle of hypocritical love

You scream,
I cry

You punch,
I cower

You leave,
I stay

Opposites attract
Right?
True love, they say
Beautiful, how the
Darkest of the things
Are made justifiable

I build rules in my mind,
Fasten a chain around my
heart to stop it from beating
when I see you,
I will myself to stop,
tell myself to stop thinking,
But the mere sound of your name
Se-ba-stián
breaks chains, and I stop
thinking, I break my rules,
I do it all for only a glance of you
Se-ba-stián
See how it rolls off my tongue?
So easily,
I wonder whether
your chains will break too.

I feel soil in the pit of my stomach,
A seed planted without permission,
With no sun to grow, no water to drink,
I feel it rotting inside of me,
That flower, never grown, wastes away,
I feel it move and tug at my veins,
Pleading for water and sunlight,
But I must tell it to be quiet,
To be silent because he listens,
I tell my little flower to hold his cries,
because beyond those closet doors,
I sense his looming figure,
I sense it with every bit of me,
But it moves and tears me inside,
and I lust over a single tear, a single scream,
But I can't. I shiver. Breathe through my hand,
and curl into a ball, too afraid that my fear
will echo. I hush. I tremble. I bite my tongue.
Iron in my mouth, my throat closes, my
stomach bursts, I smell soil, my picture
now on a milk carton,
Not in my grave am I found

I don't love you anymore

do you?
or has your heart found another?
no, it doesn't matter
time has healed me

know that I don't care
no matter what my eyes say
or how worried my friends are
why even ask?

why waste your time?
how are you?
oh, a new girlfriend?

i'm happy for you, really

another time I'll visit
my heart isn't breaking

worry not
i'm okay, truly
time has healed me.
happiness has found me
of course, you didn't hurt me
undoing the past won't fix me
time has healed me, I know it did to you

yet, you never asked me anything
optimistically imagining years of closure-less living
u shattered my heart and never bothered to buy the glue

I’ve been planted
with sunflower seeds,
been irrigated once a day
with condition of conceived forecast,
been left under the sun to grow and burn,
So I grew and bloomed and blossomed and flowered
and opened my ****** petals for the hungry hornet to see,
I felt the sting and the slit and the pain and the *****,
My pistil now empty, I ached and wept
for the hornet fluttered and flew and travelled,
pollen on his lips, I wept and shattered,
I birthed a daughter, beautiful and tall,
but I dwindled and shrunk and weakened and waned,
felt fingers on my stem, pulling and plucking,
Petals depleted, dried and drained,
wasted away, a hornet on its way

Fresh out of the shower,
with a towel hugging my skin,
I lay on my bed,
staring up at the ceiling,
Feeling as wet hair turns hard,
and skin becomes dry,
and somehow
everything in the world
seems to be okay

I look everywhere, and
everywhere I see you
You, you, you,
reminding me of what
I don’t have and
what you do.
Because I gave you every
inch of myself, and you
gave me a dream you
could never live up to.
And you laugh, with your friends,
about the girl you’ve deceived,
And I stand in the shower
feeling my  throat close up
and my tears give away
and my identity build
into one afraid of men.
But I’ll remind you that
I am alive, and
will continue to fight my
way through this world
But not for you, no,
for me.

Of Cloudless skies
and Beautiful nights,
Come starry dreams
and blithe lullabies,
Of magical dusks
and evening walks,
grow rosy cheeks
and ready lips,
Of stormy clouds
and angered mouths,
flourish bitter feuds
and maddened moods
Of wet grass
and birthed suns,
Age assuaged epiphanies
and craved symphonies
Of hour when light meets dark,
and moon meets sun,
when heaven meets earth
and cold meets warm,
I, here sat beyond my
hammock, am where
the time of dawn breaks
into that of dusk and
time becomes but a
visit into reality

I feel broken and damaged and weak,
All the while so utterly lost,
Because I have something so close to
my grasp that I smile, and I feel that
genuine happiness,
only to have it
ripped from the grasp I never had.
Alas, what is the point of hope
when it is destined to tear you down?
What is the point of passion,
when a single word can burn it away?
What is the point to live,
when your life is but a math
problem never meant to be solved?
What is the point of it all,
when all I feel is pure fear?

I'm walking barefoot into a dark room,
No sight of what is to come,
No foresight into my destiny,

I walk barefoot into a dark room,
Knowing all too well that the windows
were sealed shut, that the curtains were
pulled down, that the room was never
meant to be opened.

Unleashed was a fear so great, I lost
the fear of the dark itself.
I'm but a shadow now, navigating
past shapeless figures, uncaring of
surroundings, but ambitionless in
motion

I walked barefoot into a dark room,
knowing now that a room is not
built without windows, knowing that
curtains were meant to be opened,
knowing that doors were made to be
unlocked.

Alas, I'd walked into the room with
eyes closed. How foolish of me, for
I'd missed the fire surrounding me.

Jealousy lives inside my mind,
Scatters and shatters and spreads
and adores those shiny pink glasses,
cracked, broken, crushed, they emulate
that distorted figure in the mirror
Jealousy looks at me, I look back,
and I find the fat still there,
and I avoid my toxic mental health,
just to believe I'm okay...

In a poem,
I can touch clouds with my fingers,
I can blow blizzards into a halt,
I can whisper winds into the distance.

In a poem,
I feel more myself than I tend to be,
I can be honest, without feeling guilt,
I can confess my love, without him knowing.

In a poem,
I can feel emotions I do not feel,
Imagine stories I do not live,
Be characters I wish I could be.

In a poem,
I can do everything

i feel numb,
                        T
                             h
                                  r
                           ­            o        
                                             w
                                                 i
                                                        n
     ­                                                      g
                                                                ­        
                                                        ­    d  a  y  s    i n t o  a  w a s t e  
                                                            b­ i n, w r a p p i n g  p l a s t i c  
                                                            b­ a g s   i n  a  b o w, 
                                                            c­ o n c e a l i n g  t h e  u g l y  
                                                            w­ i t h  a n  e m p t y  s e a s h e l l,  
                                                            c h a n g i n g   t h e i r  l e n s e s 
                                                            f o r  d i s t o r t e d  g l a s s e s,
                                                            r o s e - c o l o u r e d  f o r  
                                                            s­ o c i e t y,    f e i n i g n i n g  
                                                            h­ a p p i n e s s  f o r  m i s e r y,
                                                            c l o s i n g  w a s t e  b i n s  f o r
                                                         f a m i l y,  s e a l i n g  t r a s h c h u t s
                                                          f o r  m y  a c t, b o l t i n g  d o o r s
                                                         f o r  m y  s a n i t y, w a s t i n g  
                                                           a  w  a  y  f o r  t h a t  v o i c e,   t
                                                               ­                                             h
                  ­                                                                 ­                  r
                                                                ­                             o
                                                                ­                   w
                                                                ­            i
                                                   ­                 n
                                              ­             g  
                                                             ­             
                                                   ­        l i f e   a w a y   f o r  s i m p l e
                                                           c o w a r d i c e        
                                                       ­    i  f e e l  n u m b

Clashing waterfalls in the distance,
melting into glistening streams,
flowing into the vast seas of Poseidon,
falling down mysteries of the devil's triangle,
ignited by the scorching fires of Hades,
devoured ravounsly by three-headed dogs,
trapped in cycles of acidic torture,
escaping into the poisoned Styx,
Guiding screams into judgement day,
sailing past bolted, immortal doors,

Cleansing hatred from punished souls,
bidding farewell to the burning, grinning god,
finding solace in serene Oceania, scouring
the northern winds as liquid vapour,
pouring down into divine grass,
beginning again in the ashes
of Hyacinth.

Is it desperate to
hope someone
is looking at
you?

To flick your hand
and receive it all,
A dream of many,
Often embraced with
greed, often resulting
in karma.

Put on a mask
Feel your lips tugging
d
   o
     w
        n
Force a smile,
Because they're watching
Wait until midnight--
Hide behind walls,
close the curtains,
Let the tears fall,
Pretend you're watching
a sad film,
Pretend for the sake
of your parents,
For the sake of your social
life.
Pretend for yourself, or else
you'll realize, just how unhappy
you truly are.

I sail to a world
Created by my
dreams
and paint the waves
with images
of dolphins in
the sea

I sail upon those
seas, those wrapped
in cotton and dreams,
and seek the voyage
to the Bermuda Triangle,
to Atlantis, to the seas.

I sail in my ship,
Mighty and grey,
Find it decaying and
sinking away,
Find the seas becoming
charcoal, find the skies
melting away,
Find my innocence
ripped from my hands

I sail no more,
simply sulk behind
a desk, find my
childhood tucked
away,
Find my ship sunken,
Find my dreamland
fading away.

It's like riding a rollercoaster,
That feeling of nervous fear
from the unknown,
But it isn't like a rollercoaster,
because you know what
to expect.
I never do, unless I think I do,
In which case I entitle myself
a fool~ a foolish fool,
who suffers from destroyed
optimism after each spark
of hope.

Writing is
my escapism,
It's as if
I was a director
in a movie,
creating stories
with the flick of
a finger,
changing meaning
and stirring
emotions into
a beautiful mess
of felt daydreams
Erasing mistakes in
a matter of seconds,
feeling the
sense of mixed relief
and inspiration.

...But I can't live in
my stories.
Because alas,
everything in life
never lives up to
my expectations.