You never liked reading,
But still, I write things for you,
How I wish we could talk for hours
and share something we'd love to do.
But it's quite hard to get a good topic—
We're total opposites for real,
So here I am looking for answers
Did fate let us cross just for thrill?

But despite differences we have,
I'd love to sit still and do nothing with you—
Silence and your presence makes my days complete too.

Her name is a stain on my t-shirt
even the strongest bleach can't get rid of,
She's rooted deeply on the stitches—
Even chlorine won't be enough.

I know her color won't fade away—
you just don't want to wipe her out your path,
She's the ruins you've been protecting,
a spot of beauty and history's mark.

An here I am, a tourist interested in her story
but is neglected to have knowledge of her love,
Fears are now crawling up my system—
What if I'm the stain needed to get ridden of?

I woke up to a sight of dreadful memories,
Lingering around with joyful tones,
chasing my peace for some chaos—
Inflicting back the pain to the bones.

It was a "never thought of" situation,
as healing seems to be good enough,
But in the midst of some realizations—
"I might be still just blurting out bluffs"

I still woke up to a sight of horrid regrets,
concealed in muted yellow paint,
And I thought a hint of crimson blush
would hide it all—
But it still peek through with glorious taint.

I'm after the rumbling butterflies in my stomach,
Trying to hide away the troublesome pain,
And now I admit am a great liar—
Pretending to be really good, again.

As the coffee starts to take charge of my system,
My thoughts started to run as well.
I can't keep them off track for a minute—
They started screaming these unbearable hymns.

A bowl of what-ifs served as my snack for the midnight,
Swimming in liquid of yellow traumas and pain,
I can't even bear to look at them with my eyes naked,
But hunger forced me to eat those filthy dreadful grains.

Then, they start to sing horrible notes inside me—
Ruining my butterflies' soft ang lovely song;
Destroying the peace and order of these creatures—
inside are harmonies no one can even get along.

Write me as a poem—
in verses of lovely rhymes,
enveloped with fancy words,
and metaphors divine.

I would love to rip hearts apart
and tell the story of a sacred connection—
but after such great feelings of butterflies,
these two, lost communication.

Write me as a poem,
And I’ll write you as one too,
For in this world of chaos and hatred,
We’ve crossed our paths and found the calm—
the home where our love grew.

You’re the loveliest sunset I’ve watched—
My bittersweet goodbye,
Taking a piece of my mended heart,
To a place cannot be seen by my eye.

Write me as a poem—
I want to be a timeless art,
And I'll write you as a song
Forever stuck in my recovering heart.

04•15•21
7:36 PM

— Crissy Morsel

With trembling knees and soft-pleading voice,
She spoke to every child she dearly loves,
But no one did listen nor tried to hear
Those agonies she unfortunately had.
And for decades that passed,
She never did really feel so well;
And through the years that follow,
She lived her existence on the fire of hell.
But no one cared, to her dismay—
they even abused her kindness,
that’s why when her temper’s got so full,
she let them suffer in the darkness.

But we’re all naïve and dumb enough,
Don’t even care about her situation,
Wanna know who she is?
Our very own mother nature—
We need to stop what we’re doing,
And try to listen to her voice,
Every modernized thing we have now,
Contributes to her suffering and slow obliteration!

We need to hear her soft-toned voice,
Pleading for some help,
Maybe in the near future,
She’ll taste once again,
the taste of heaven’s state.