in the beginning it was only hope and dust and fragments
of a grave never visited, never touched.
you talk with your hands, you leave your palms
resting on your chest.
i was never meant to be.
i was never meant to come alive.
and all you ever did to find me was die.
that was it. that was me lying in bed
deciphering messages.
i could not be convinced
of coincidence.
but i wanted to believe.
to have something.
i always knew, i always thought
i will not rest.
maybe i am still scared to rot.
scared that i will burn,
that when i get a good look at you,
that will be it. i will be done.
i will be silenced. i will become
your phantom. i am not the limb
you missed. i am not the wind.
i am faith and gut and circumstance.
that is all we are.
that is all it took for me to find you.
to love you.
but you,
you had to die.

Listen, it's a beautiful thing
when distilled to its essence;
reduced to its purest form.
A paradox and a paradigm;
a paragon of perfection.
Epic in its arythmetic
progression; poetic.
Like Chinese arithmetic,
so hard it hurts. Yet soft
and exquisite, like a bubble
of love caught in a beating heart.
That place where poetry starts.

Time ticks and ticks as the writer’s mind fails to click.
Paper blank white
And obsidian ink drips.
Ideas passes through the writer’s mind, but cannot seem to make it flow.
Where to start?
Where to go?
A hero girl ready to start a new adventure?
But later wakes and finds herself in the middle of an English literature lecture?
No, no. Too cliche.
Give her flaws and write in a difficult situation.
Like perhaps
And have her sail to her next destination!
…
Sorry, I got writers block… couldn’t finish the poem. Bye.

Have you ever watched your world just fall away.  Not in the good way where you're focused so intently on something that brings you great joy or a goal that you have to struggle to reach, but the actual collapse of your sole existence.
The one perfect falling needle, point first, aimed to crash perfectly into the bubble we call life. The scramble to grab it, to stop it even at the cost of making ourselves bleed to prevent the collision. But failing.
Oh how bitter the implications that loud pop signifies. The spike in your heart rate as the pumping muscle drops into the pit of your stomach. How sweet those moments were when the world was just a heavy burden to bear.

You taught me more than just how to dance...
You showed me cruelty.
Peeled off the cover of reality and showed me meaning.
You wore a mask to blend with the crowd
And hid your vulnerability.
But alone, I saw piece by piece who you were.
A child, negative and unsure.
Your passion burned over your regrets.
You were a man of ignorance and understanding
And joked on things that were immature.
You made me feel special and not.
You confused me and gave me butterflies.
For that I hate you...
And until now, I still try to convince myself that I do.
How could I forget when every aspect of this world repeatedly reminds me of you?
Chills runs through my spine when your name reaches my ears.
And even in silence I still hear your voice.
If only I could just forget.
If only we had of never met.

Quiet as a mouse
In a sea of emotion
Fending for myself
My heart yearns for acceptance
But settles for loneliness