It's easy to love someone you don't know quite well because the possibilities are endless.

... Once you know them a little more, the possibilities start to shrink...

... Like dreams that fade when reality sets in...

Greetings,
Excuse me miss ,
I was wondering perhaps if you may help me,
See im a wanderer , wandering around beseeking
I have been missing her, so she is assumed missing
Hence the besearch from the depths of my heart try to find her,
To no avail,
Well let me avail to you her description , so as to search your thoughts to your memories as to her whereabouts,

She is a meleninated Asian,
Black like a blackcat and looks Asian ,
Very beautiful its amazing
Smile like a Silverline in the clouds
Humbling like the ninth cloud
Loud and quiet at the sametime
She so intelligent she is wise
The humour is dry though,
Not that she cant make people laugh and has a breathtaking laughter herself
Basketball tall
Hair like Versace medusa

As I visit him, filled with history that cannot be thrown away.
In his museum, he is there, at the centre, a piece of art.
But still only a statue...refusing to move.
Refusing to yield a warm touch.


But who is truly foolish?

When my thoughts drift towards a certain young man.
I begin to admire his solid structure.
Tracing over every edge, stamping his image on the back of my eye lids.

Dreaming, dreaming of a soft, tender embrace.
Feeling, feeling like that will never take place.
For this young man has found solace in solitude.

As I visit him, filled with history that cannot be thrown away.
In his museum, he is there, at the centre, a piece of art.
But still only a statue...refusing to move.
Refusing to yield a warm touch.

Who is truly foolish?

...I can only expect so much from a statue.

I'm scared to commit...

I feel like I'm with holding parts that have been hurt by others.

We are works of art,
and we are walking museums.

Let's be careful who we display our broken pieces too.

Blankets don't keep away the loneliness.

I have figured it out.

Somehow, you are able to encapsulate love into a tangible gift that you give to me endlessly.

I stopped writing...

But after several years,
You just send me a text,
And I realise I'm a mess.

Because here I am.
In the late A. M,
Writing...

Missing you too.

We are much more than the pain that is written in our past.

Let's be careful with who we display our broken pieces to.

A year ago I clung onto the covers on my bed... lamenting... heartbroken over you.

Today, you're more of a fading scar than a gaping wound.

Those butterflies I felt,
that fluttered to the zenith of  dangerous firmaments,

they too die.

People get lonely,
And that's okay.

But I want to be lonely with you,
Is that okay too?

A foolish woman is clamorous;
She is simple, and knows nothing.
For she sits at the door of her house, On a seat by the highest places of the city,
To call to those who pass by, Who go straight on their way: “Whoever is simple, let him turn in here”;
And as for him who lacks understanding, she says to him, “Stolen water is sweet, And bread eaten in secret is pleasant.”
But he does not know that the dead are there,
That her guests are in the depths of hell.
Proverbs 9:13‭-‬18 NKJV

You came providing a shelter.
I found comfort and safety.
But after a while I realised
That you were blocking the sun and rain.
And I slowly withered away.

Once you finally decided to leave
Sun rays brought life and
the rain refreshment.
And I was finally able to bloom again.

I sit in pain that I've felt before
And once again I'm alone.
Picking myself up once more.

I really wanted things to be different this time.

You try to reassemble the fragments of the trust you once had.
You collect the pieces without contaminating them with your anger, bitterness, callousness and discombobulation.

You console yourself with memories that aren't tainted with the hurt.
You try...

But you get weary and distant.

And you don't put much effort in the trust you're trying to rebuild.
Because why should you clean up a mess made by someone you love?

You're running away from heartbreak but there are things that need to be broken for you to grow.

You're going to give me butterflies
and I'm going to be mad
when you don't take them with you
when you leave.

You made me smile
And you made me laugh.
You gave me butterflies
Because for me, you were enough.

But I failed, dismally,
To return the things that you gave to me.

He created,
A mind that follows solutions,
An ego so fragile but insists on appearing stable.
A spirit that does not give up easily, and takes risks.
Hands, large, that easily blocks the sun.
Shoulders sculpted, and boldly defined.
Muscles protruding, trying to escape from the skin.
Edges sharp, from the ridges of the brow to the jaws.
And a smile that ignites festival fireworks in a girl's belly.


Everything screaming, "I HAVE TO BE STRONG!"

...thought I was the ocean on earth.

I found out that I was
a puddle that the
rain made and
the sun
vapourized.

Adulthood is putting on a mask everyday
And hoping that one day
You become that mask.

When wounded in a place where the body cannot heal.
And the person who has caused that wound is unaware of how deep it is...
Or does not believe it's real.
And only "negative" emotions seem to numb the pain.

To those emotions, I guess forgiveness would be a betrayal.

So for now, do not forgive me.

Everyone has jumped off.
But I'm here trying to patch holes
That you refused to attend,
With my first aid level one skills.

I wish I took swimming lessons instead.

As we grow older,
It gets harder to laugh whole heartedly,
Because we become aware,
Of the holes in our hearts that nothing seems to fill.

Nevertheless, we always try
And that makes us beautiful.

Is to have the ability to stand tall where gravity does not exist.

To: The One I Love

I love you
As the you I know
As the you I might never know
And as the you I'm yet to be acquainted with.

I just love you.

🖤🖤🖤

When I think about it
Being unaware and optimistic
And recieving things freely.
Things like love, support and the freedom to dream.
Was a luxury...
A luxury I wish I did not have to barter for adulthood.

Now that the naivety is gone,
Sometimes cynicism becomes a companion
And anxiety a daily battle.
My bed is my absolute favourite place to visit.
And every part of my body aches.
And I'm just...tired.
And empty.

When you glide your fingers on my skin
Or whenever we touch.
I am overcome with a gamut of emotions.
And I feel so much...

Something like the reason ice cubes melt in the palm of your hand,
Which is maybe the same reason the hinges on my door have started to thaw.

Because of you, I feel so much warmth and so much more.

There are those who believe that no one has ever died of a heartbreak.
Clearly, they haven't met me.
Sadly, they can never meet me.

But, they can visit my grave.

Whether you are under your blankets
Or in the arms of another.

I hope you are warm wherever you are.

If you were to say, "pack your bags and let's go". I would go.
Where to?
It wouldn't matter and I wouldn't know.
Unfortunately, the farthest place you frequent is the liquor store.
And you don't even ask me to go with you.
Not anymore.

You see me as a dark passage you have to go through.
Leaving your fingerprints on my walls while trying to find your way out.
When you find the exit, you leave without looking back.

And I have to buy new paint each time...

Seemingly I cannot not like you.
But you smell like a night filled with debauchery.
The type of smell that I loathe.
You smell like my father.

And I know what's going to happen,
I'm going to love you.
And you too will leave me, right?

I decided not to fall in love again
Until I fall for myself.
But you...you make me yearn
For the sweetness that comes with love
And the bitter taste it leaves in my mouth.

Being black means that there are hands of my forefathers and foremothers that are placed on my shoulders.
They gently tap and push me to be better than what I have been taught we could be.
Who tell us our history?

If I do not seize these opportunities that are here now then the doors they opened,
using their bodies that nourish the soil now and their voices that have been silenced,
will slowly close and who would be able to walk through them?

Yes, it's the same old song with the same old tune.
We must keep singing so we do not forget.

Even great, big, tall trees lose their leaves during winter.
Some lose a bit more,
But spring will come.

Spring will come...

I don't just have scars...
I have memories tattooed onto my skin.
I have emotions attached to my heart and imprinted onto my skin.
They are conversation starters that say all that needs to be said.

But they don't ask...

When she was younger she wanted to grow up and be happy.
Now that the years have granted her another birthday.
Is she happy?

She would tell you that happiness is a fluctuating feeling.
And that she stopped looking for it.

She used to plant seeds where seeds did not grow.
Recently she started to plant seeds in herself, even though the weather is uncertain
And the wind is strong
And the soil is still healing.

Something has grown...

Now that she's turning 21
All she's looking forward to, is seeing her garden be filled with flowers.
She's grateful to be able to experience all of it.

That's all she has to say.

I've been practising how to fix my contenance by trying to carve a smile in the corners of my cheeks.

For when I see you again.