Maybe it's the fact that you're there and I'm here.
Maybe the year hasn't been too kind on my heart,
or maybe I'm hoping we could start again.
Pick off from where we last left,
as if we walked back into an old video game,
we would revisit.
I miss it. The arguments, the tension, the kisses,
the ever so loving way you kept the memories we shared.
The kisses we missed are the ones that break my heart.
People tell me not to look back, there's no future in the past.
I've outlasted loneliness for too long is what i tell them.
Because it is not often, that people get to meet.....You.

I don't know where to begin,
last time I looked you were here.
Now near feels so far and
the stars seem so dull.
I let myself push and pull
for way too long,
left my heart available,
just for you to break.
Now I watch it all melt away,
our love...
like Ice in my hand.
Vanishing.
Slowly.
But surely.

We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven,
when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell.
We played an endless game of  nicky nicky nine doors,
because the floors were lava and we had no where else to go.
Too little hiding and too little seeking to find what we wanted,
or to even run away from what we truly honoured.
We played games like children playing breaking bricks,
trying to break traditions set by parents from years earlier.
We chose to play a 'til we die' game called arranged marriage,
because operation made for a better game than abortion,
and it's all distorted marketing; trying to sell parkinsons-
to veterans with medicine prices sky rocketing.
We lived in a time where playing cops and robbers
meant playing tax offices trying to honour tax on coffins.
Take the heinous nature of human and discount it forward,
we are not all as evil as we seem, but we still play jump rope
with the sensitive lines hidden behind media's eyes,
we play jump rope with politics because it was always fun-
to lunge up the ladder in a game of snakes and ladders.
We all played at monogamy like it was a game of monopoly,
constantly competing for marriage like it was Mayfair on the board.
We've boarded on a train of imagination with fetishes and kinks,
trying to rethink what the ordinary could never provide,
and I admit, i lost in the game called tinder but I don't lose sleep
knowing I haven't matched with someone who swiped right.
We built campfire out of torches because there's still a light
in the horse **** we go through on a daily basis,
and we hold our tragic faces trying to compete with the sob stories
of modern day Romeo and juliet's because what's best is beyond us.
So I tire of playing Simon Says when I know quite well that
we play duck duck goose with bullets and guns hoping the fun
doesn't reach us too soon because there's still some fun in funeral.
We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven,
when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell.

Say you'll see me again,
even if it's just in dreams,
fill me in for when you do,
because I'm missing you.

Say there's another time,
that we'll cross paths,
even if it's in darkness,
even if we're not partners.

Make my heart skip a beat,
because that's what it does-
So say you'll see me again,
even if you just want revenge.

I miss the girl who lit my world,
I miss you Megan, so much,
please say you'll see me again,
even if none of it makes sense.

Maybe this pain I'm feeling,
Is the healing realisation
I so desperately need to learn
because there is no love without loss.

There's no inclination for you to feel anything for me,
but sadly truth is I'm struggling.
I've been tugging onto tissues hoping my tears
will stop waging war on my cheeks.
Did you know, I didn't sleep?
I haven't slept since I said goodbye,
ok maybe that's a lie- maybe an hour
here or there but enough for me to
hope to dream of you; but I don't,
it's ripping me up London girl,
I'm one step of a ledge I've never been on,
never knew it'll take this long
to jump, and I've never known it
to hurt this much.
I know you don't need to care,
but tonight and last night,
I've been dreaming of you ...
Back here....Back there...
Back to square one....with me.
Silly dreams, I know.
My medic is no where to be seen,
and I'm one day further from her.
My medic is no where to be seen,
and tonight I won't sleep again.

So if it takes four years to forget me,
remember that definitely is just a word we assign to things we think will never end.
So if you play pretend, befriend a soldier,
remember that my shoulder is open.
An unlocked box holding up rocks waiting,
training, continuously changing; for you.
So if it takes four years to forget me,
remember that we live in a world
where artists curl ears to snip it straighter,
forget the patience it took before that cut,
forget the other stuff that cause the pain
and all we see is a painting. The stained page
of a life lost to being caged in with nothing.
We are all fighting our own demons,
and I'm glad you ran from mine-
I'll fight the confines of my cage waiting,
the patience I feel  in my soul weakening,
and each hit I'm dealt seeps in further.
Bruised and blue I remember you,
the starry nights won't pay justice to me,
and I ask not a leprechaun for change
because all he'll offer me is a pen and ink
pushing me to rethink and in rethinking,
I'm thinking I miss you, I'm knowing I do,
and saying sorry hurts a little less,
because it's like a blessing to my pettiness,
I've dug my grave so let me bury in it.
London girl, this heartbreak is my own fault,
hold your head high and cherish your rides,
Carry my story as just "another man you met".

If you're looking for reasons to hate yourself,
don't help the demons win your battles.
They say cattles don't bleat like sheep,
and I guess there's a green for every tree,
but when it comes down to it- you-
You're human and a beautiful one at that.
I know I remind you almost always about it,
but I just wanted you to never doubt it,
because clouded sky mostly leads to storms
and bub you shouldn't be torn into thunders,
sold like lightning onto tin roof.
You are amazing like the crew you carry around you,
and I am forever grateful to have known you.
Beautiful girl, don't give up, hold what love
you can and trust me when I tell you,
you'll find an amazing man to hold that love too.

I fell into the pool of you at full force,
unaware that the course carried currents
and the hardest part is I'm disheartened.
Your laughter gave me shine
and the fact that you're mine made me smile,
So bless the souls that intertwine with yours,
but behind closed doors- I know it's not mine.
I say goodbye to you as a martyr,
unafraid of the struggles I'll face
and unaware that you'll say it back so easily.
Once where you cared for me, it's dissipated,
the fates tested our waters and drowned us both.
There is more love today than yesterday,
but it's washed away alongside my goodbyes.
I love you- in the distance,
because the difference between you and I,
Is still a million miles.

There's a barrier of two blocks that sit between our hearts,
each broken part of what we are only settles with the sun;
but tonight I've begun my journey into losing myself.
It's always been a scream of help away from losing it all,
maybe if I stand tall, there's one less stress on my mind
because feeling so blind in trying to gain vision is horrifying.
Maybe I'm just not ready to be loved, or maybe we're just wrong,
for one another, for each other, maybe just wrong all together.
Maybe there's an ocean drowning our hearts,
and this time the kiss I gave you over Christmas night,
isn't a lifejacket to help us out.

She rides in with the moonlight,
the hollow echoes of her footsteps,
silent as her smile glows in night,
as those sparkling eyes match.

I wore pride like a badge across me,
at shoulder height, slung right across,
the fact that she’s mine, forever to be;
silent as my smile glows in night.

The cusp of the air grows beyond stars,
cherished breath; we matured forward,
redundantly relaxing beyond the yard,
as we stood in the tenacity of the dark.

There is not one thing left in the world,
just two souls stuck silently smiling.

Sometimes I wonder whether it would be easier,
if a meteor of memories crashed and burnt into nothingness,
or if I carried it with me long enough it would degrade with my soul.
Sometimes, some days I reminisce the taste of sea salt,
across my tongue from the residues of the beach,
and some days I reminisce the same taste of tears
I have cried over women.
There is a barrier between who I aim to be and who I dream to be,
there aren’t enough shining knights so I buy a shiny armour;
just after a time when knights in shining armour aren’t valuable.
Some days I buy the ***** and bury it all alongside a drink,
but most days I try to find out the past mistakes of my dyslexia in women.
Do I or do I not ...want to relive it all again?
Whether the summer breeze or the winter wind blows across me;
Shall I see you still standing silently awaiting me?

She is the beacon that entrusts warmth onto me,
and I stand the pillar of whatever holds balance to her life.
I call my heavens and she responds with a simple smile,
but an eternal mile gives lesser comfort than her words.
I've heard the loose lies slip through those lips of hers one
too many times and I have won more than I have loss in this
fair trade of tragedy. She is a volcano waiting for the ash
and the lava to erupt and bury me.
I am just the wind that carries along the embers
of whatever we used to remember and everything else
we wished to forget.

She is, just one ...
            that I can't forget,
that I really wish I didn't,
and really wish I did.

Chaos is in my mind,
a blind light seems to ease
the darkness that creases the folds
of my brain.
The auburn chest of the sun,
a crimson dungeon that only
ever becomes unlocked by
emptiness.
This empty pit I drown in,
only becomes filled with bottles.
I can't go on knowing that each drip,
is just one temptation magnet
attracting on the next.
I am the one regret I have ever had.

I have spent so much time blaming you,
that you have died and came back alive
in the amount of time that I have held on
to this hatred.

I blamed your life for my future
just because it suited me to say
you were in charge of my history
as if the mystery behind an unopened
box is controlled by you unwrapping
the ribbon.

So for all the times I have been selfish
I helplessly apologise

I like how happy you have been,
I like how it isn't with me and that you
weren't as blue as the sky anymore.
I like the four by four prism you drew
in the morning dew that sits on the car.
I like that about you, the fact that you smile,
and each agile part of your lips only made you more,
and with less time passes the more you become,
so if I could sum you up; you are more than you
have ever been.

And that's a good thing,
because you have more life in your feet now
than you ever did in your own house.

I like how happy you have been
and I know how it had nothing to do with me,
but I'm happy for you regardless.

I like how happy you have been
and scene after scene, I wish I could watch a movie
of you smiling. Panoramic angles of nothing...
but you.

Lonely is just synonymous with scared,
you are scared to be with someone
because once gone, that person is
more or less an end of a part of your life.
So you are not a lonely person,
you are scared and each curse of
that same word is rarely any different

Forget that I stood at your grave,
Let the grace of my tears water plants
Around the radius of your headstone.

Be reminded of the memory of dried eyes,
Whence I was still holding your palms
And the photographs aren’t faced down.

Remember me for when I was happy
Not the man at your gravestone today,
Be reminded of me with you
Rather than the me without you.

Remember how the daisies still grow.

What held by all as nothing
Remains the most memorable part of me
And what could be given up so easily
Is what I cling on with my life.

I can’t write like other poets,
each closest word I can think of,
is merely a cough in a dying body.
I wish I could write of reluctance,
of binding pungent chains tied to a life,
I wish I could write about pretty eyes
and the way they look like sapphires
tossed into a river.
I wish I was more of a poet than I claim to be,
I wish I could write with an aim to leave
behind a spectre of gleam and grim,
but I can’t.
All I know are broken hearts,
and writing this alone is ripping me apart,
because the roses that sat on the field,
is always sweetest when they’re the furthest.
The blue sky cuddles me inside it’s orb,
but I absorb enough light to know-
that no matter how much sunshine I receive,
you still won’t be able to see me.

—
Every girl I’ve ever pursued,
I would be lying if I never gave you my truth,
the truth is I am scared of myself.
They say time helps but over the years
my fears seem only to grow larger
and each day gets harder to go pass.
Now I can tell a joke, make a few smiles
but each mile I walk in my shoes,
the harder it is to stand still.
So I watch the world descend on me
like a rain pouring over a little field,
and dream of a shield to cover myself.
Just...there’s just no umbrella big enough.
So if I’ve ever pursue you,
don’t take the ruse of a happy smile
or the ruse of a joke like manner,
I am rarely ever happy,
but there is a little bit of happiness
in making you happy.
So I would be boldly lying if I didn’t tell you,
that I’m a sad and broken man.
I am not confident, and I don’t know how to pick you up,
but I do know one thing,
I’m happy that you’re smiling.
So I am being honest in saying
your smile is the deposit into my bank of happy memories.
I am not confident and chances are you’ll look through me
but if you could catch a glimpse of me,
remember- I never intended to lie to you.
Remember- I just wanted you to smile.

I have been thinking about love
and how you were my first.
I remembered the time that you
pulled alongside me as I was
walking home and offered me
your comfort and said it’s never
good to walk alone.
That’s how the monsters get lunch,
you said to me.
The echoes of joyfully twisted laughter
sings in my ears and for more
than a minute I enjoyed it.
I watched you put your steps to match
your shadows because it’s never
too good to dwell on darkness.
I knew right then, that I could tie my definition of beauty to the mere memory of you.
And so I did.
Now every separating kiss, I look for your lips
and every hand I hold I watch the bold sudden dodge of shadows.
And it is never there.
Because it only happened with you,
and with you I knew what it was like to be with something beautiful.
So I give you my heart, whatever five fifths to a part of a whole, I give you my heart.

World's apart,
the gates closed,
boarding rooms packed;
stranger faces than truth,
she waits for me on the other side,
so familiar yet so distant,
two hearts connected,
she loves me
and I love her,
but world's apart
and don't think this space will close,
not any time soon.
I'm staring at framed photos,
edited to mesh like wires-
red with red and blue with blue.

I am afraid that the only place
I will meet you again
is deep within my dreams,
and I'm even more afraid
that when I finally get that chance
to meet you all over again,
you won't remember who I was.

There's a tightrope in my mind,
everyday I am afraid to fall
and most days I wished I had fallen
a couple of months ago.
I'm just tired of walking
and there's supposed to be
a sunrise to welcome my every step;
but I just can't find it.
I'm not crazy,
I'm just trying to hide away everything;
so if you meet me in person,
remember my smile
because I've spent years with it,
I have spent years with the same smile.
Cracked lines on my face,
this place isn't home and I just
keep on smiling-
till I can't.

I tied my mind into something so unkind,
when I gave it time to think of you
and everything you mean to me.
I break like a bark peeling from a tree,
just hoping you could see that I'm here,
not transparent,
visible,
in the flesh,
and yearning to be yours.
I've let demons loose in my mind,
my heart has become the blinded guard
and there is just hell in my life;
nothing but hell.

My life is filled with doors that are constantly revolving
I'm always involved in either letting someone leave
or hoping that someone will walk through,
knowing that all I do is stay welcoming,
I'm tired of being the door man always laying dormant,
I'm just another welcome mat.
One lover after the next,
they'd wipe their feet on their exit,
and I'm tired of asking who next is,
because I'm tired of wondering whether every
single one of them regretted it.

If half of the world understood me
       I would be half as mad,
       but twice as sad.
So I prefer being a cosmic unknown,
       because I wouldn't expect-
       anyone to care-
       and that might be the best-
       way to be driven mad.

In my mind your fingers were in the gaps of my fingers
we were holding onto timbered dreams of romance
then the floorboards disappeared from underneath
and I am in this weathered storm left thinking-
that somehow someway I wish you could...
I wish you could find a way to love me as I have you...
but the only words that come out speak silence-
'you are beautiful' because that's all I wanted to let you hear.
Theres an ember lighting a pile of papers
that seems to turn rustic a foundation of solid ground
and right now- I'm wondering if love is real,
because if it's real, why does it hurt so much?
Maybe I just wanted the soft illusion to stick a little longer,
maybe I'm not great, maybe I'm not good,
maybe I wasn't trying hard enough,
or maybe I just wasn't enough-
but I do know that ...
I miss you...
not in the way we built our relationship-
I don't miss you in the way that you went to work,
or I went to school...
I miss you in the way that I won't get another chance to miss you,
so I miss you-
but the sun shines on my face,
and I wish I could say its familiar shape stings my eyes,
but right now - I wish I was blind,
I wish I was blind, deaf, and could not talk.
Just so I can say - this is close to death- and I like it.

Fields and farms of roses, each destined to be plucked or cut from its stem.
A rainbow under the covers of incandescence, a myriad of colours to suit a holiday.
Happy Valentines doesn't mean I love you  in the same way it used to, decades ago.
Flowers become a facade of emotions that don't seem to prosper from wandering minds.
I planted some rose seeds in a broken ***, a decrepit chrysalis that houses a blossom and bloom. The roses grew to an enchanting sight and I am disillusioned by the fact that the only options left are to pluck it or cut it. So I choose neither and I leave the roses to wilt in a decrepit cacophonous cemetery.

Twisted times we live in, it is sad really;
people aspire to be just alike models
some get to live the dream and others
fall in gravestones of eating disorders.
New health crazes don't burn the hunger,
they set alight igniting the soul till nothing left
but broken bones, ashes scattered
across seas as pink as blood.
I watch the passerbys sip on poisons
contained in a bottle with promises
that this will bring in the gold,
bring in the women, bring in the fame,
but never discerning the devil
is on his stride, taking his jog just as
passerbys do. It is sad really,
to watch bones and dressed up animate
corpses walk across a stage filled with
estranged eyes. It is sad really,
so I try to spread my happiness as ashes in the wind and tell them they look good.
I don't know if I'm feeding their death
or savouring on their happiness, but
they grin back with gratitude and I
feel none the less grateful. Have I become their poison? I watch with careful eyes, and tell another;
you don't have to change the way you look,
but my words fall on deaf ears as they say, it's my choice.
Do I give them a path to walk,
or do I choose their path?
Who am I to dictate what they should do?
So I sit idle by in a little corner,
drinking my coffee, reading my book and
watching people exsanguinate themselves.
I sip on coffee and pass out happiness
where I can, and where I may not,
I sit idle by drinking coffee, reading books and watching people die.

Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight,
languid lips coalesce like a tessellation,
the vexing vines wilder the incandescent-
glimmer but the burning impression remains.
Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst-
a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic-
episode.

Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of-
sentiments stinging on the mellifluous
lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs-
the euphonious recital of a sonnet that-
is unacquainted to the mind.
Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire-
behind the myriad of evergreen forest
as the insouciance wildflower approach.

Precocious primrose locked from the
scorching sensation of a wildflower
exhibited a lassitude facade like a -
waning lantern fiery on its final residues.
In the distant a wildflower and in
the presence, an idyllic primrose:
so scarce and so strange.

I recognise envious eyes,
jealousy runs in my life like a knife-
that plunges into the spine of a hero,
a worshipped figure can still get stitches.
This is the epilogue of a life distorted,
bordering on borderline personality disorders.
This is my life, the green eyed monster is watching,
being honestly cautious of my responses
I make it my responsibility to remove the hostility.
I put out a net, restricting its movement
but it spends its time slithering through it.
This is me at my truest,
jealous hearted, falling apart but falling in darkness often
like I'm lost in my own coffin, coughing from the option of breathing in dirt and dust or not breathing at all. This is me,
I am embracing the hardest feeling to admit,
I am envious,
I am jealous.

You remind me what it is like to smile again,
to pick up a pen that sends a positive message,
you salvage the wreckage that is my life
my light seems to flicker on and off
but I scoff at those who say I'm living in darkness.
I fall apart often trying not to get lost in
the crosshairs of two shooters crossing pistols,
I fall apart often believing in false prophets
that gives me warning and false cautions.
But I have you to pick me up every time
every line I write is a appreciation of you
of how you made the blue in my life vanish
and banished the negative emotions
that drizzles into an ocean drowning everything.
You are the sun when there is darkness,
you are the mountains and the harness
that keeps me safe and happy.
You are everything beautiful in my life
remind me one more time that tonight-
you still love me.

My heart beats for you, the familiar door knock
it's not chained up or locked so enter at your will,
come live inside my heart for free, it is always open
for a golden sunshine like you.

This is a place I don't dare to visit
the room is enclosed by four walls,
there are misshaped windows
with metal bars that laced the brick
as stained as a lifetime smoker's teeth.
The grey wall bleed a terrible stench
that brings back memories of pig farms
in the morning after a dampened night,
the walls are coated with red sludge
that is enough to reduce a grown man
to his knees with pleas of destroying
the savage assault on his senses.
In the middle of the room sits a chair
that is positioned right under a bulb
of light that spreads a dimmed vision
to the entirety of the room, the chair
is locked inside a cage as large a space
as the cabinet of a common kitchen.
The bulb swings from its loose wires
that seems to exist as a tangled mess
with the red intersecting the yellow
and in various points the wire
seems to have been stripped of its
dignity with copper exposed in points
that have rusted against the times.
It seems that the swinging light
may never be fixed to a single space
in the vast expanse of the ceiling,
so it throws shadows against the walls
where the chair is mere distortions
between light and dark.
The chair is trapped in a cage
with a lock that seems impossible
to ever penetrate and the break
in the metal bars that has rusted away
is too small for any hand to fit through.
The mildew grows in the corners
where the ground meets the wall
and against one of the four the green
grimy mildew meets the red sludge
enough to give of a yellow colour.
I recognise something against one
of the four walls, it calls for my eyes
and screams for my ears. It reiterates
this is the inside of my mind and
so far I'm making colours of everything
I could ever find.
I've been running my whole life
and in every single light, I am
another shadow casted against walls-
forever imprisoned.

The world spins so fast; time appears to spin along with it
the arms of the clock pivot miles and miles before any notice,
for some the closest thing they have is a simple single minute
that could change a cynic into a glass half full kind of optimist.
Time sifts through the palms of some people's lives like
a night that only begins and ends with a single flickering star,
for some the hours are brought to minutes and even smaller,
time becomes even shorter. The sands of time cascades
through the hourglass as time leaves way for things spoilt.
Sometimes I wonder, why can some remain happy throughout the day
and I can't maintain a facade of a smile with each passing and slipping grain.

I etch a scar from my heart
Transfer it to you, the blue that coats it
coaxes venom back into snakes.
Ink poisoning is better than lead poisoning,
the moistening of lips from the ink
sinks into the bloodstream more positive
than the poisoning of lead into the blood.

I won't colour in between the lines,
I'm combining the pain, the mess
the dressed up confessions of sickness,
I'm the wicker of a candle set on fire
and you are the canvas I will burn.
You may think you're the subject
but we are no couplet, you're capulet
And I a Montague, and upon this view
I will cherish memories of alchemy & of poison.
You're roaming in the background
across the scenic route of my painting,
to be frank you're staining my conscience
to be honest you're the opus that feels so soulless,
the hopeless denial.

You ran marathons across the yellow tapes,  
just to break into an already broken space,
you prey on with your own cherished hate,
while you remain snugged in front of a screen,
uploading scene after scene of horrific child abuse.
You laugh with tormenting captions that proves
you are an addition to the abuse on innocent lives;
running taunting lines that read the black eyes
make her blue eyes look even more cute,
as a collective you cheered on abuse in all kinds
and with like minds you cheered on crime:
from **** to abuse, from violence to hatred-
so that the safest place would only exist
with the absence of you and your kind.

I was eighteen, I watched my friend break into tears;
says her worst fears are those among her own peers,
says her worst fears are those demonic digital fiends
that seems to only want to drag her underground
till her cries barely made a sound she says it's hard,
I'm alive but god do I wish I wasn't, I wish I wasn't,
and the rotten stench of online monsters stained her soul.
I was eighteen when I watched my friend lowered into a hole,
a hole that was the perfect symbolism of her dreams and hopes.

You and your kind are the demonic figure reflected in a mirror
of a person suffering from eating disorders. The distorted view
is just your after image projected onto a live being's mirror,
you place handguns into adults and teens who suffer
from suicidal thoughts because a buffer of your hateful words
seems to hurt the most, you are the ammunition
that screams to loud for anyone to hear or to listen,
you are the chair that encourages every hurting mind
to climb up and take a swing off a rope,
you are the evil that sees people jumping from buildings,
screaming that children aren't worth living in this world
so you direct them to hurl themselves off a broken cliff,
you are the hateful comments on a family breaking apart,
you are the scars on a burn victim that remains noticeable,
you
you are every broken tooth and nail in a world that is decaying;
and if we're all so broken then the token for breaking us goes to you.

Will we ever learn to shut you out,
before a home turns to a house.

When I was a kid I used to play hide and seek a lot,
take it from me, the biggest tree isn't the best hiding spot.
When I was a kid I also used to smile and cry a lot,
I guess it was part of my game, disappear behind a tree,
avoid anyone who was seeking and let my brown eyes run
like the sun casting its lights over the cliff of a waterfall.

I remember the first time I had met and talked to Sarah,
she caught me playing hide and seek as I usually did.
I remember thinking it wasn't fair that she had found me
because there wasn't supposed to be anyone seeking.
She had asked me what I was doing behind the tree
before I could answer she told me to count to thirty,
so I counted. Being a kid; counting to thirty was difficult,
it was intricate enough to count to ten or even twenty
but thirty felt like an eternity to a six year old.
I told her I wasn't going to count because I couldn't
and I wouldn't satisfy the request of a complete stranger.

This was way before the stranger is danger days
where you could play in a park  with a forty-five
year old man and no one would bother wondering why
a forty-five year old man is sitting at a park.
These were the days where the dark sky doesn't signify
a time to come back inside the house but a time to explore,
explore the vast stars that sat above our heads, explore-
explore the core of the earth with a plastic sand shovel.

Sarah explained to me that I was wasting time behind the tree
that she could see in the future and that I will be happy.
I didn't believe her, I asked her how she could have known
and she told me that you reap what you have sown
and to a kid that was in itself a mystery, mainly because
I didn't know the words reap or the word sown.
Sarah was about eleven when I first met her
I've seen her a few more times since then but then
became moments gone and breezes of wind blown away.

I remember Sarah playing hide and seek with me
she said I shouldn't hide behind a tree because it's too easy-
it's too easy to find a kid hiding behind a tree,
it's too easy to see that the kid will pick a tree.
I asked her how can I do things differently,
how could I ever get my chance to win at hide and seek,
I remember the weeks followed; perfecting a strategy
of running and dodging the seeker in between trees,
interestingly enough the fact remained that I still lost.
I glossed over my different plans, wondering if I can
find a different way to win this game.
I asked her how come she could find me every time
and she'd remind me of her age, but to say that-
a tortoise is wiser than a human because of its old age
is to say that a page written a decade before
could tell of how people are feeling today.
It just wasn't the truth that remained in my brain.
I told her she was lying and that she was just trying
to hide the fact that she was cheating by not counting.

When I was a kid I used to play hide and seek a lot,
take it from me, the biggest tree isn't the best hiding spot.
When I was a kid, I would always used to cry a lot,
but as I grew up that was something I tried to stop,
and I succeeded in most instances.

I don't know how much things I haven't apologised for yet
I don't know how much time I have left to say all these things.
I sometimes stay up at night and think of the wasted apologies
and the lack of acknowledgement for people I take for granted.
I remember waking up with pins and needles in my feet,
wondering if I walked will the pins learn to make me bleed.
I don't know how much my family knows I love them,
how often I think about them in times of troubles
or even if the rubbles of the foundations that hold me up
is enough to leave a footstep trail to where I will lie.
I wonder how many missed opportunities for apologies I have lost to time.
I wonder how many missed chances for I love yous
which would change the blue coating my soul.
I wonder if I'll ever know what it was like to not think back.
Before the thoughts fade to black, I'm accustomed to this.

The fact that people so easily forget me is upsetting,
I would succumb to something if I knew well enough:
to toughen up behind a hug, to  summon up strength,
to go to whatever lengths just to permanently stain a page
with a name that becomes synonymous to my own.
Writing has become synonymous to the word hurting,
the diamond behind a curtain that droops over reality.
Writing has become synonymous to the word masking,
the casket that hides the real emotions we set aside to die.
Writing has become synonymous to the word invisible,
the minimal impact that makes miracles into nothing.
I will not be a part of the writing process if that is its course
I will force myself to open doors that may lead to nowhere
I will bare all of my soul for anyone interested to read,
I will bleed in between lines to make my mark in this art.

I will pave the path of being the next titanic that sinks,
I will be a titan that thinks before leaping in with bare fists
I will risk all I am for someone to read and hear my soul.
Just so I can be more than a page in a book that doesn't get thrown out,
I have grown out of my idealistic childhood days but I still play-
the part of those with a broken heart, the part of those who's art
speaks what their mouths can never say.
I know, one day I will be an indelible ink staining minds.