Lab coat on
I stand in a cold morgue
Scalpel in one hand
My heart in the other.

Hands tremble
Making the first incision
Cutting through the sweet memories
And stripping it from the bitterness
you left behind

It lays open
Displayed on a silver tray
Tied down by your half truths
And compassionate lies
Held down by the “I love you”
And trapped by your “Don’t go”

A beaten heart
That no longer beats
No longer pumps love
But instead is filled with tears
And regrets

It has lost its color
A vibrant red
was turned into
a Coal-black
As dark as the bruises
You left behind

Yet
Flatlined
And without pulse
I still live
With nothing on my sleeve
And an empty hole
on my chest.

I’m sorry.
My beautiful stanzas,
For not keeping in touch with you.
Somewhere along the way
I abandoned you.
And never wrote back.

I’m sorry.
My sweet verses
I have not forgotten you.
I have only forgotten the feelings in you.
And my heart can't bear to remember.

I’m sorry.
Meaningless Haikus.
I thought I could make some sense out of you.
But I will always be a few words away
from finishing you.

I’m sorry.
Untitled works.
You are amazing.
But I couldn’t give you what you deserved.
I left you raw.
Unpolished.
Unfinished.

I’m sorry.
That I scroll past you.
That I am to forgetful to finish you.
But to proud to erase you.

I’m sorry.
That while you remain
unfinished and unpublished.
I continue giving birth to
New works and
New ideas.

I will finish you one day.
Not today.
Not now.
But someday.
And until that day,

I’m so sorry.

Inspiration is a mystical creature.
Legend says it has the power to intertwine thoughts.
One after the other.
Magic that makes the words turn into choirs of souls with a common song.
As it takes over ones body and controls every feeling.

It comes when it wants and leaves when it must.
Sneaks into your head.
Invades your thoughts.
Arrives when you least expect it.
In the shower.
While washing the dishes.
Right before going to bed.
Yet is found absent when you need it the most.

Uncontrollable being.
Unpredictable at best.
Always leaving things unfinished.
Never giving me a rest.

Inspiration is a mystical creature.
Yet to be captured.
So if it visits you.
Hold it tight.
Make the best of it.
Before its magic starts slipping away.

A thin silver string.
Keeping our lives,
tied to one another.
Is slowly beginning to break.

It has become worn out.
Untangling around us.
We realize it is not long enough to keep us together
While we are so apart.

Predictable.
The moment we parted ways.
It was all over.
We knew
there would be a time
When we would reach the breaking point.

Each and everyone of us.
Pulling it in so many directions.
It is thin
It is weak.
It will...

SNAP

What is broken stays broken
There is
No duct tape that can fix it.
No new string to replace it.
No nothing to keep us tied anymore.

If only our relationship wasn’t as fragile as a thin string.
We could have avoided this poem.

The sky is crying.
It’s shedding tears of loneliness and sorrow.
Puddles of its feelings have formed on the ground.
While kids with red boots trample all over them.

I’m probably a bad person.
Since I enjoy its weeping.
But I cannot help it.
I find it to be cathartic.
The brightest colors turn opaque.
While a place that was once silent fills with the sound of loud whimper.  
Its tears make me forget my own.
As the clouds roar in pain while being consoled by the cold wind.

But its no use.
The sky wants to shed some tears tonight.
And with every drop,
Every sob.
I can feel the sky,
getting vulnerable for everyone to see.
Being able to expose everything.
Anytime.
Doing it in pain yet gracefully.
Isn’t that just beautiful.

I would say I’m in love with you
But that wouldn’t be true.
Because I’m not in love with you.
Just with the thought of you.

I'm in love with the thought of traveling together.
To the place our hearts lead us.
Hand in hand,
as we see our dreams come true.  

Or just the thought of staying at home.
Binge watching our favorite series.
While eating all that we shouldn’t.
Regretting it after.
But doing it all again the next week.

I'm in love with the thought of loving you.
Warming up in your embrace.
While our hands fit in the right place.
And your kisses softly becomes bliss.

Or just the thought of spending
Every birthday,
Every holiday,
Every day.
With you.

But then again,
I’m not in love with you.
Just with the thought of you.

To: Past Me
From: Future You

Hello, my past self.
I hope you’re doing well.
But then again,
I know you’re not.
Because I was you,
And you are me.

I know about all the smiles you’ve had to fake.
I know about all the silent tears your pillow is stained with.
I know about all the people you’ve loved and all you’ve lost.
I remember it all.

But listen,
It doesn’t get easier.
You will still go through hard times.
People will still leave you.
You will still feel sad sometimes.

It may not get easier...
But you do get stronger.
Strong enough to overcome it all.
The pain.
The tears.
The obstacles.

Small things won’t hurt you anymore.
Every rock in your way will turn into a pebble.
People will go and others will come.
But you'll be alright.

You’ll grow stronger.
You'll be wiser.
You'll get bigger (not in height though, we shall always be 5’2)
It may not get easier but you will be happy.
Of that I am sure.

So past self I tell you.
Dry your tears. You’re not alone.
You’ll be surprised of all you’ll overcome.
                                                                                         Love,
                                                                                         Future You ;)

Another person has fallen victim to the heartbroken syndrome.
Not me,
but the girl who’s sitting next to me at the bus station at 1 am in the morning.

The first symptoms she showed were slight.
Constantly staring down at her phone.
Desperation seemed to reflect on her face.
As if waiting for something.
A call.
A text.
Anything.

I knew she had reached stage 2 when she abruptly stood up.
Paced back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Not caring about anyone who watched.
Calling someone who clearly would never answer her.
The more she dialed, the more sick she got.

She escalated pretty quickly to the final stage once she bursted into tears.
Looking for reasons as to why everything went wrong.
Sobbing her eyes out.
As her body and feelings gave out.
Letting fall one last tear.
While she gave her last sigh.

She’s not the first victim I’ve seen.
I myself have fallen prey to this disease.
It is an illness that everyone is bound to have,
at least once in their lifetime.

And she will have to learn that,
The only cure,
The only antidote,
The only remedy,
Is time.

Darling,
take my hand and
dance with me.

Let’s perform the graceful art of painting lines on the floor with every swift move.
We spin around the dance floor, that has now become our home.
Softly, holding our bodies close.
Not too close,
but close enough.

Let us waltz into each other’s hearts with every step.
And with every movement let us prove our love.
A love for everyone to see.
Dance partners that were clearly meant to be.

Let’s dance salsa.
And no... I don’t mean the kind for chips.
The rhythmic salsa that makes our hearts beat out of our chests and intertwine with every note.
The salsa that causes the adrenaline in our bodies to rush as we follow every beat.

Let us practice our seduction through a heated tango.
As we caress each other’s bodies and souls.
Intensely loving and never wanting to let go.
A tango that will set our feelings on fire.

Darling,
Dance with me, please.
One last time before you leave.

This is it.
It has come to an end.
It has been a long journey together.
But we got to this point at last.

My eyes,
far to tired for any more tears.
My ears,
not willing to listen to any more condolences.
My voice,
cracks while trying to get any words out.

And my heart,
cannot break any further.
As I look down to the coffin.
A coffin filled with all that reminds me of you.
Be it the teddy bears from valentines day to the songs you dedicated to me.
Be it all the beautiful memories to the darkest moments we shared.

Its time to bury it all.
5... No, 6 feet under ground.
The last goodbye.
Because today is the funeral.
The funeral of my feelings for you.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” -He asks

“No. I do not”- I say

“Why not?” -He asks again.

(Because falling in love at first sight is like falling in love with an appearance. The hair, the eyes, the body may all be perfect. But what about who’s on the inside. Such things are not gonna matter for the rest of our lives. Will you not love them when you see the flaws? Will you not love them when they are a mess?  Will you not love them when they aren’t as perfect anymore? As if their looks could show me who they really are. I don’t need such superficial love.) - I think

“I don't know.”- I say.

I lay in the cold grass.
It’s prickling and tickling my body.
But I lay there anyways.

My eyes wide open.
I look to the sky.
As if the sky was a vast blue sea. Waiting to be conquered. Waiting to be explored.

The stars are out.
As if they were all those sailboats returning home. Millions and millions of lights looking for a place to go.
Eternally sailing.

The moon is full.
As if it was the light house that’s guiding them back.
Mesmerizing anyone who looked into the light.
Blinding my soul.

Not a cloud in sight.
There is no tide.
Everything scattered
but just where it should be.

I reach my hand out,
as if to grab something.
Anything.
This masterpiece I could never reach.
Trying to embrace it with my thoughts.
Trying to take a mental picture as to never forget.
Letting it know that someone admires it.

And as it reflects in only my eyes,
I think to myself:

“Maybe you’re watching this too”

The boy I love,
is funny. He makes corny jokes not taste that bad.

The boy I love,
is a great cook. His salsa is almost as good as his dance steps.

The boy I love,
is kind. He wakes up earlier than usual every morning so he can help the old lady cross the street.

How many guys does it take to change a lightbulb?
One. Because the boy I love can fix anything. From cars to world peace.

But theres one thing the boy I love cant fix.
Im dying.
The cancer came back. Its taken over my body this time.

Now the boy I love,
can't sleep. He lays next to me.
Checks if im still breathing every five minutes.

The boy I love,
cant stop looking at me with sad eyes.
He looks at me move around the room as if I was already a ghost.

The boy I love,
sighs of relief whenever I answer the phone.
He knows I haven't gone yet. He just wanted to make sure.

The boy I love,
doesn't want to live if I die.
But the boy I love doesn't realize
that the only reason I can keep living is because he's alive.

The girl I love,
has beautiful almond shaped eyes and a smile as white as your grandmas new pearls.
She wears them on her face everyday.
Shows them off to everyone around her.

The girl I love,
works at a kids dancing studio.
Everyday she goes to work in her pink tutu and a bag full of compliments.
Everyone loves the girl I love.

The girl I love,
wouldn't **** a fly. No... really she wouldn't.
Her love for everyone and everything is greater than the number of stars in the sky.

The girl I love,
is smart. She could probably tell you how many stars there are in the sky.
Or at least a proximity.

But theres one thing about the girl I love that I don't love.
The girl I love is dying.
The cancer came back.
Its taken over her body this time. There's nothing to do.

The girl I love,
still smiles at me.

The girl I love,
still gets out of bed every morning to go to work.
Not knowing if she'll be able to do it all again tomorrow.

The girl I love,
kisses me goodnight as if it were gonna be the last time.

The girl I love,
wants to keep living before she dies.
But I don't think I can do the same in a world where the girl I love is no longer there.

Because I’m alone,
I can enjoy the silence.
Even when my many, many, but oh so many thoughts are rambling around as loud as a heavy metal concert.

Because I’m alone,
I realized I have amazing conversations skills.
I mean THE. ABSOLUTE. BEST.
Even though I'm mostly talking to myself.
In my head.

Because I’m alone,
I can read the book I always wanted to finish.
While eating at the corner table of the fast food I decided on.
Alone.

Because I’m alone,
I can play the music I want out loud.
Not worrying about others taste.
Doing the air guitar solo.
Without being weird in anyone's eyes.
But my own.

Because I’m alone,
I don’t have to think about what I say.
Or say what I think.
Or think of what I should’ve said.
Or say anything at all.

Sitting. Eating. Talking. Laughing.
With everyone.
In a group.
Where everyone is everyone’s friend.
I realized that I have always been alone.
Even when I’m not.