“Please, I am drowning. I am suffocating. I am fading. This is my plea for help that breezes on your skin ever so silently. There is only darkness. There is nothing. No one. You tell me you’re there, but I can’t see you. You tell me you’re there to listen, but there is no ear. You tell me you are going to stay, but I see you leaving. Is it because it is too much for you?
You’re going through nothing. You’re life is perfect. You’re going to be fine. It doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels heavy. Heavy on the mind and heart. Scarring and wounding. Re-wounding and never healing. It’s not nothing. It is more than something. And maybe it would be fine if you .

Why do we keep holding on when all we do is magnify one other flaws; have our words act taws and have our unsupportive attitude act like claws dragging one another down? Why do keep holding on when it is no longer authentic? Are we really that scared of letting go of familiarity and embracing the unknown? Because we both know it feels wrong and that there is someone better for us. Do we just have to be strong? Because It hurts to admit there is someone better out there for us, all along.
There is someone with whom we’ll click, mind and heart; just connect with and accept. A connection that is greater than the constellation drawn and electricity itself. Compassion that is greater than the depth of ocean itself. Did we mistake falling for one another because we fell in love moment, and kept holding on just to feel alright? Is that why we are afraid to leave, because we are scared to be lonely and not alright?

It’s hurting
I can’t make it stop
You can’t take away the pain
I want it to stop
But it keeps clawing at my heart
It keeps raging in my mind
It keeps rotting in my veins
So,
I let the drugs take away the pain
Nicotine flows through my veins
And I escape.

“I fall in love with words, so how could I not fall in love with yours? How could I not fall in love with the beautifully weaved lies? How could I not fall in love with the words that flowed like melody and phrased like lyrics holding emotional depth? How could I not fall in love with the perfect illusion of the love you had? How could I not fall in love with image of how beautiful I was by the compliments you sent my way?”

"I am trying to hold on. Even to the silliest and littlest of things. Even if it’s temporary. But there isn’t anything in my reach. Just grasping darkness. Nothingness. I am trying to tell you, my cry for help is soft almost as a breeze. Through little hints, please try to see. But it is going by un-noticed. There is no one to save me. Nothing to hold. I am slipping. I feel myself letting go. There is no tug from the heart that attachments were once etched to. I feel myself letting go of the thin life line I hold. Letting my life go as the tears that leave my eye and the crimson blood that spills from my skin. I slip, as I slip into sleep.”

I wanted you to stay
and not to be scared away.

Just tell me you would still be my friend
if I ever where to go batty, loony
weird, crazy or delirious.

Tell me you would still be by my side
if I were to send hour long of voice notes,
text messages dictating stories
and emotions flowing out like a waterfall.

Tell me you would still care
if I were to become a extra version of myself,
feeling more sensitive and deep than my usual self.

Tell me you you wouldn’t judge me by your eyes,
rumor me away by your tongue.

I wanted you to tell me,
and actually mean it.

We don’t put a label on it
Because we don’t want to fit
And commit.

We keep it fun and chill;
Nothing serious
No consequences
No future
Nothing romantic
Trying to keep it platonic.

Doesn’t it sound ironic?
Because I am frantic
About you, boy.

Trying to be ice cold
Pretending we are something,
when we’re nothing.
I am losing my mind.

You play these games
Trying to make me insecure
About all these other girls.

So I play along
Because it’s love,
Maybe not long lasting
But real.

But we’re just spiraling
No end; not infinite
I guess I can not pretend
For I don’t want to be this type of girl.

I want to us to burn;
Our hearts to yearn
Our souls to learn.

I want attachment,
Security and stability.
I want it to be long lasting
And not a temporary fling

Don’t leave me for him. Don’t abandon our years of friendship for the man you just met. Don’t let him blind you to the extent I am invisible and deafen you to the degree my secrets no longer reach your ear.
But I guess my plead is too soft and late to be heard. Because now I am here clinging on to my heart and tasting the salty tears that roll down my cheeks. I am here reminiscing all the memories we made the time only the two of us spent together. My heart aches with every message you ignore and every outing you ditch me for him. You are fading, our friendship is withering and my loneliness is just deepening. You are my everything but it seems I am no longer yours anymore. You’re my first, but it seems I am no longer yours. For your secrets never find a way to my ear and time in my life.

- I never knew the inseparable could be separable

Here comes the friend who calls, to use me.
Here comes the friend who plans, to ditch me.
Here comes the friend who messages, to lie.

You don’t matter no more
For I no longer want be hurt any more.
So take your pain
that you wrap as presents,
Because I no longer want it no more.

Don’t you keep calling me babe any more
Don’t keep calling me your best friend any more
For it no longer means anything no more.

Because these words
are just labels that mean nothing anymore.

Nothing matters anymore
No one understand me no more
So leave me
Desert me
Lie to me
Ditch me
Use me
Betray me
It no longer matters to me anymore.

Beauty for me was measured by numbers and shade. The shade of my skin. The number on the scale, the size tag on the shirt, the number of compliments and the number of likes. Social status was defined by the number of followers. And I myself defined through the eyes of others and opinions. But beauty was so much more. It wasn’t all about being beautiful. It is about the words you speak. It is about what you read and watch. It is the cerebral stimulating conversations you hold. It is the way you burn heart with brilliance and engulf heart with compassion. It is the sweetness in your laughter and the humor in your quirkiness. It is the things you stand up for and the things you love. It is the way you are random and weird. It is the way you sow your own garden and give flowers to yourself and others. It is the way you lose yourself in your passions and the way you’re so driven to your goals. It’s all the intricacies of your heart, mind and soul. For there is beauty in all the little things that made you, you. Most of all there is beauty in the way you see, love and care for yourself, because all along you never needed to convince anyone or fit in to the words written to be beautiful. And accepting yourself for the person you are is the most empowering and beautiful thing you can do.

When you say sorry;
When you start to care
Emotions are set in motion
Thoughts, pain, memories come crashing back
Seeping through the cracks
that I never knew existed.

I never knew I was broken from within,
Until I felt my emotions bleeding through the edges.
I never knew my thoughts were suppressed,
until they came crashing down upon me like turbulent waves.
I never knew I was sad,
until I tasted the pain that was rotting like venom in the corner of my brain.
I never knew darkness brewed within me,
until it diminished the light within as it stretched over the bright sky.

Your presence awoke the darkness.
I thought it was harmless
until it drove me into being heartless.

Now there is emptiness
and only sadness.

Your presence awoke insanity;
driving me batty
and a little scatty
leaving me ratty.

She found herself painting her pain away
and writing her heartache away.
She escaped all the ones who hurt her,
creating an extension from pain to painting
and far more.
She transfigured all the betrayals,
broken trusts, hurt
into stepping steps.
Indulging in her passions,
she found escape.
Letting her to be swayed by the pain
than to be drowned in it.

Talking to you
when I felt weird,
makes me feel insane and crazy.

Talking to you
when I am sad
makes me feel I am sensitive and emotional.

You made me feel all this in the worst of ways,
because I met someone who,
when I was crazy, was crazy with me.
When I was sad, they understood me.

In their acceptance I found who I was
and embraced myself for who I am.

You came in my life
with the words “I love you at first sight”
I should’ve known better for you had a hidden bowie knife.
Would you blame me if I believed in fairytales?
For I was so young and naive.

I did not reciprocate those feelings back,
Did you take it to your ego,
and decided to play that game?
or was that your intention all along?
Because you wore me down with kindness and care,
till I was soft and vulnerable.

Weaving your beautiful lies,
you got me to entrust my heart and soul.
Glamouring my vision over the months,
you wore down the walls
and got past the borders and guards.

You decided to take of the mask
and drop the truth like a bomb,
when I was defenseless, weak and unarmed.
For the caring and affectionate person I knew was all a facade
under which laid a deplorable and cynical soul.

Wearing me down till I was unfortified,
was a part of your maneuvering all along.
You reeled me in with care,
just so you can hurt me with a smite.

You broke my vision of what is all good in this world;
where kindness and care isn’t always itself,
but a way to get past the walls.
You made me taste the bitter after taste of those sweet words.
and scarred my innocent soul.

You broke her,
for she no longer sees kindness and care the same,
but fear the ones who show her kindness,
will do the same.

I am still that shy girl who’s afraid to approach people and have her words and thoughts heard. I am still that girl who fantasizes scenarios of her confident self. I am still that girl who’s afraid of social interaction. I am still that girl who mentally prepares herself just to say hi on the phone. I am still that girl who’s silent in one of those corners. I am still that girl who mutters and stutters words and sometimes finds it difficult to decipher her own emotions and thoughts. I am still that girl who doesn’t run because she’s afraid of her body being judged. I am still that girl and is more magnified some days.
Just this time she has a little more faith in herself. She wants to be louder than her “not good enough” talks. She wants to be bolder and burn brighter than her fears. She doesn’t want to be en-caged by the fear of others thoughts and words because it really wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth not reaching her potential. It wasn’t worth not moving forward. She’s the same girl, with the same dreams except for this time she wants to move past the fear for herself.

“It’s becoming tougher to love you every time you hurt me. It’s becoming tougher to trust you every time you betray me. It’s becoming tougher to be vulnerable every time you exploit me. It’s becoming tougher to lend you my heart when it feels like an open wound in your hand. You taunt me every opportunity you find, brag about my flaws occasionally, criticize and act cold at times. I am tired of visiting the restroom as though it is my sanctuary during occasions, shedding tears and walk out numbing my heart. We ought to be encouraging, loving and supporting one another and not pushing the other down to rise. But the heartaches are becoming often and old wounds are being reopened. It’s becoming tiring to experience it over and over again. I guess for it to not hurt anymore, it shouldn’t matter anymore.”

I feel the ebbing flow
of venomous pain in my veins.
I feel the thoughts like bullets to my brain,
the emotions crashing down like turbulent waves.
I see the scars
rawer than before.
So here I am,
listening to music
louder than before.
Painting my heart
with more colors than before,
because it all hurts more than before.

Your tone was like a blade,
that skimmed her skin.
Your words had cut deep,
stabbed her heart;
scarred her soul
and embedded itself into her memory,
playing like a loop in her head.
For your words are now ghosts that hunt her
in the darkest of times,
making her sweat smell like terror.

A ocean,
an urge
A waterfall all ready to pour out.
But not a single drop trickles down.

It's all in
drowning
and swimming;
gasping
and breathing ;
emotional
and impulsive.

I am crying words,
but there are no tears.

To the galaxy,
to my world of fantasy.
The place where my heart is at zero gravity
and all the constellation fall into place.

“Why do you love me?” she said loathing her soft-squeaky voice while she stared at the reflection that lay before her. Saddening with every inch of fat she noticed that left her feeling husky and plumb in comparative to all the other girls in her class that walked around confidently in their curvy and slender body. She stood there trying to **** back her flabby stomach and stoke her jaws with her thumbs harshly so that the underlying fat would just go away.

She ran her fingers along the dark curls of hers twisting them and despising them. Staring abhorrently at her honey-colored face that wasn’t fair as milk and therefore considered not beautiful. Pimples cracked upon her skin, making her despise every intracity of her body.

Her vision blurred as she would see her reflection, tears streaming down her heated pink cheeks as she stood upon the machine which defined her by a number; just like her grades that would define her mind.

“Why do you love me?” It was the question she would ask every person that would walk into her life and say the three words she was never able to tell herself. She wanted to know the details, when and how for the three words would leave her curious as to why they loved her because she never believed there was something likable about her. She never believed she was noticeable because she was invisible. She wanted to know because she was a soul longing to love herself.

As I awake from the cryogenic slumber I was put in, I find myself walking around a mansion. It must be a century into the future, but everyone still seems to be asleep in their pods.

As I walk around, my feet guide me through a tunnel lit by hanging candelabras, as though they have a life of their own. Few moments later, I find myself standing in front of a of a jagged wooden door with tiny bugs crawling up the dented-scratches and a loose door **** awaiting to be opened to the library that stretches far and wide.

The windows are tinted vintage yellow and air stenched with the musty smell of worn books; heavied with dust. The large maghony table stands alongside the ladders and railings, allowing access to the different levels of the library.

My hand reaches out for a leather-bounded book, as though it was longing to be read and plucked from the ornately carved bookshelf. It is my biography; my breathings worded and memories penned.

Stunned, I ran my fingers along the frayed pages, to find the stories of every person to have crossed paths with stretched out across the pages.

I re-read pages, letting the wordy essence cling to my skin and the embers to re-ignite. I allowed myself to taste the salt and sugar of the sunrise to sunset span with the ones who left inky footprints across my heart. Until I came across a name that started resurfacing from the dustiest parts of my mind.

Out of curiosity I reach out to the protruding mark to find myself holding her biography, and countless pages stained with my name. “I sat there tossing sorrows from one hand to another, trying to let the blue ink gush onto the page in front. I could feel the darkness coaxing my mind, labeling me with names as I held back the tears stinging my eyes. I was an invisible cloak; an outcast who was unwanted.

But then she came, each step paced with confidence. Her curls leaked sunshine into the room; I could feel it warming the cold that layered me. I found her seating herself near me, as the girls behind me laughed like a pack of hyenas, gossiping about the new faces entering.

I found her looming above me, her hair brushing against my forehead “Wow, has anyone told you write really well?” but all I could manage was a shy smile in comparison to her gleaming grin that swallowed her cheeks whole. That was the first time I heard someone say that and then there was something warm, fuzzy, a spark? Happiness? Hope? It felt foreign and different, almost energetic but I craved more.

In the coming days I watched as she drove herself with passion, reaching out to catch stars, blooming herself and handing it to others. She was alive and vibrant. Almost brilliant like lightning, enlightening the sky with her spark like the one that was fuzzing between my cells.

Her presence was alluring, I found myself responding to her wavelengths, wanting to resonate with it; to have purpose, meaning and life. She made me want to untangle myself from the toxic relationships I had. It made me want to stop drinking the poison they fed me. It made me want to crave for good. To nourish my body and to breathe.

She called me on my birthday; no one ever called me on my birthday. The next day she hugged me and turned my hurricanes to a whiff. Weeks after that she invites me to her birthday, pulling me away from my world as I accepted her hand paving paths for me to explore.
I flicked a few grainy pages ahead.

“Are you okay?” She said as she though she could smell the stench of it on me. As though she could see me drowning within myself. And in that moment I let her in, I broke the walls, I let them crash. I let the ocean erupt open through my pores. I let my rusty voice box to voice its cries. Even though I spoke in language that came natural to me; chaos. But she sat there listening patiently, and in that moment I wrote about how her ears were made of empathy, eyes of moonlight that made me feel lighter and blissed.

I watched her move with such zeal that I was mesmerized. She became my muse, my inspiration. So I undressed myself of self-loathing and set out to talk to people and explore. My bruised throat ringed and my chewed tongue wanted to speak. My hands wanted to write for my younger self that stayed quite all this time.

She breathed air into my collapsing lungs, became the brightest of hues in the world of my blues. I was a dead language and she pronounced me with life.

Here I am, a writer. All because of that compliment that left me to weave my sorrows, revertebratating the hope she gave me through my writing. Hoping to provide the same inspiration and passion she inspired me with. She restored the courage in my spine; the faith in my cells and the love into my heart that I tucked safely into inky words hoping someday someone feels the same.

I closed the book as I traced the last line, with a tear in my eye. How could’ve my trivial action have such a profound affect?

Taste the world;
with every dish
that brings such a bliss.

Let your receptors explore,
the burning sensation of spice;
the tingling sensation of sour.

Allow your tongue to be coated
in the cotton candy sweetness.

Take crusty bites between your teeth
letting it explode into a thousand little pieces -
dancing inside your mouth.

Allow the citrusy undertones
to trigger serotonin
and curve the edges of your mouth.

Allow your brain to relish
your taste buds to embellish
as your hunger diminishes.

Sailing the guilty-seas
as regret trickles down my spine
and unloads
its over-thought-husky-murky-thoughts
upon my shoulders.

My daily rations are here:
shame, regret and guilt.
They’re brewing me to the bone;
into a rotten broth.

My thoughts pace
backwards and forwards
from guilt —
for remaining stagnant,
one of the past.

For being recycled
relentlessly-unbreakably
in this unhealthy cycle.

It is a cycle
of forget me nots;
such vile fetters.

But no dose can
reverse the abused time,
the stutters-and-mutters
the time that slipped my grips
and the sins
that swallowed my innocence whole.

For remorse, guilt and shame
only anchor us back
unless we were to morph them
to fuel and experience
to propel us forward.

Mothers. Possibly one of the significant contributors of the phrase “Empowered Women, Empower Women.” They overcome adversities, challenge social norms and break down barriers – rising and raising their child with them.

They plant flowers in the garden of their children, so they can bloom. They pour love out like a waterfall and nurture those who drink from it. They enflame hearts with compassion. They orchestrate and create harmony amongst their children creating a beautiful symphony. They pave roads and liberate. They voice out and amplify the ones of their own.

Here is to their depths of love that supports and caresses. To their cheers that uplifts. To how they raise and confront the world. To their softness. To their boldness. To their resilience. To their sacrifices. To them bringing out the best in us.

Here is to their ability to create an insurmountable power that only grows. Here is to them to being driven and passionate in their own authentic way. To them carrying out their integrity. To them setting examples, aspiring us to emulate.

To the ones who give birth, adopt, educate and raise. To the ones who devote their lives to their families care, to the ones who balance. Here is to them creating ripples carried over generation. To them shaping us and thereby shaping the world after them.

Fear,
you make my body quake
leave cracks in my esteem
and invite doubts
to harbor and fester as you
send a shiver down my spine
to drown my fire.

Fear,
you soak up all the syllables.
that I was to mutter
so I stumble
and stand there mute
with my stomach heavy with nausea.

Fear,
I take guilt bites
as I am lost in panicky howls.
while you lay out procrastination unevenly
and drink from the reservoir of my energy.

Fear,
you trick my potential
wipe out my credential
leave nothing but
raspy and rough remnants for me
to draw from.

Fear,
you rule the beats of my heart
pulling me out at the first hello.
you grip me,
whisper obscurely
whilst darkness grasps my sense
and wraps my dreams with dark matter.

Fear,
with you my my soul
remains parched like the desert,
and my brain wrecked with nervosity
as the sensation spreads across my body.

But Fear,
I want to be one step ahead
of you this time.
I don’t want my fate to collapse
beneath your decisions.

Fear,
I want to spell courage louder
than your stifling whispers
as I embrace opportunities
regardless of how daunting and risky you paint it to be.

I sat there like a museum of moments,
a mosaic of emotions
as she dissected my personas
and did an autopsy of my past.

Memories climbed my spine
from the forgotten attics in my heart
with every question, she asked.

But my tongue was a drought
and my voice box was a rust box,
as the child in me
was bullied into quietude.

My edgy, messy and raw memories
molded my perception,
rewrote my interpretation
and deepened my experience.

There was underlying vengeance
as the layers of fabricated scabs were scrapped
to disclose the deeply entrenched, tender emotional scars.

As the present, struck a cord
my limbs would turn into cement
as the echo would bring me back
to the endless street of time
and I would be dragged
through open wounds within me.

The pain would seep in the nooks
and crannies of my soul.
At every jibe and remark
one more part of my flesh
would be chiseled away.

The sky would join in my sorrow
as the clouds gathered like sheep
summoned by a shepherd
and then we would begin to weep
our unresolved issues
onto tissues.

I revisited the bathrooms
that became sanctuary in high school
with its gossip soaked walls
and tear-stained countertops.

I dream of the people
that have lost their way in my memory;
a fabrication of nostalgia.
But the tranquility of waves,
can’t even erase the memories of their wrongdoings.

My past engraved itself
into my muscle memory
ingrained its teachings
and matured my sensibility.

The dim shadows that would creep
And the blues that I would pour
are becoming budding flowers in my chest.

Weaving from the same web
I was entangled in
building from the same sorrows
I was drowning in.

I began connecting,
understanding its stem
stitching my memories.

I write for my younger self
who felt silenced and erased by the world.

I shape all the tainted pieces of memories
into art and paint shades of my past
as each is soaked in a memory.

I craft subconscious relief,
breathing memories
into 6 alphabets
that were strung into paragraphs,
beginnings and end.

I reached out to corners
to bring out
sunrises and sunsets
and reignite dying embers
as I de-spell the damage that silently reverterbrates through generation.

I find home in my skin
and love myself, whole;
Shadows, crevice and all.

The colors of your memory, you can no longer contrast as they swirl into one another.At times they are vibrant as though you are vividly living them experiencing them,and at times they are dull as though they have faded and been acid washed.

Your past slips into the present and present slips into the past. Some days you love me;as though it was the first time you are holding me in the palms of promises. But there are days when my name never slips your tongue and I am a mere stranger to you.

The memories are no longer stored in your mind, but on gigabytes that I have to play – that has become your storage and retrieval. Your memory has become pixelated, but you can no longer remember them as though it was your own.

Some days you’re on a carousel of memories in your mind; revering and your tongue has forgotten its language. At times you speak eloquently, but at times they are stars that are unlinked and lost. You used to weave constellations but now it’s difficult to put in a thread into the needle.

Thread of your memories begins to wear and the tales woven through ancestry fray with details as the world slips away and the thread unwinds. You try revising the tales, but the thinning at ends of your recollection slowly fades.

The scent infused with ambiance sends echoes of familiar places, resulting in you having spasms of remembrance while the flutters of moth wings beat at the edge of your mind.

There are days when you become a shell of yourself, as your pupils remain fragments detached from reality. I watch you as you wind yourself back in front of my eyes. Ebbing and flowing, freezing and releasing; trying to make sense of the confusion and panic that riles in your mind.

Though you feel, your stars are growing cold and feel like an ethereal that has collapsed, your smile is still the brightest star in the furthest galaxy. It is made of combustion of crimson blue yonder and candy hues.

Though your palms are dreams wrinkled dry, and your memories are falling like baby tooth, as the color of your speech is bleached and you frantically scavenge for memories to ground and make sense - I’ll be there to hold your scattered mind with patience and love you the days you won’t remember me as your own

At the age of 10,
I enter a world manipulated by a smooth console
with knobs to weave myself into a different skin
level up with every ****,
and move with a certain skill.
At the age of 12,
I open a world stacked on my shelf.
Some world lying there parched like the desert,
accumulating dust and letting its texture fray away.
Whereas some lie there with their syllables
paving roads to adventure
and intoxicating the air with its tropic odor.
At the age of 14,
I scroll myself into another world;
where vision is pixelated
and lighting is perfect.
Instagram and Snapchat are the societies that exist,
ranking your position with the followers you keep.
Endorphins are the taps you receive
and filters are what you apply before you leave.
At the age of 16,
I pick up the VR goggles
and sleep under lucid rainbows
and a different constellation.
Everything is under my control,
the timezone;
a stimulation that feels so real.
At the age of 18,
I meet people of different hues,
discovering new worlds in them.
With different nations weaved on their skin,
and composition of carbon, nitrogen, spice and sweet ever so different in them.

A curtain drawn on the sun;
A summer storm pouring down.
Gale of winds brush past
making you lose your breath.

Emotions start to rile  
Thoughts start to pile
letting your words become vile
as tears start to flow down.

The fog settles
as the mind rages
and bones
start to feel uncomfortable
in your skin
as the swallowed air
seems to be too thick.

During those days
some just want to curl up in a ball,
take cover
and watch laughter evoking shows
to get you through.

Some want to
fight through the storm
trying to hold on to
the bleak of glimmer
that maybe there.

Some find comfort
in the presence of others
letting them be their crutch
and drink their potion of love.

Some just want to
cry a river nile
letting sadness trail down their cheek
to let it all out.

Some remain in the
black silences
falling apart to the rhythm of solitude
as the black matter multiplies
and they implode
falling back into the abyss.

- Beautiful Sensitive Soul

When you lay there
thinking your life does not matter,
every exhalation meaningless
every unfaltered lub dub wasted.
Go out there
and make a difference in someone's life.

Help,
be compassionate
give yourself a sense of purpose.

Because it is then
when you will breathe life
into your life.

When you will find
yourself grounded and rooted
rather than swaying like the wind
and allowing time
to slip like grains of sand unnoticed.

Allow fluffy clouds
of magical wisps
to fill your head
and propel you forward
to fill you with color
and life.

So choose to bring peace and joy
to someone else and yourself
for you will not be just be surviving
but bringing significant difference
in your own beautiful way.

Absorbing the pain
letting nothing spill.
I feel the alluring darkness
enwrapping me with its wings.
Overriding my words
by the whispers in my head;
making me push people away
to keep them at bay.
I guess this is how darkness wins
by telling you to keep it all
to yourself.

I want to pick your brain for lunch to discuss the ongoings in this world and your views on controversial topics. I want to talk about the various books you read, the various shows and movies that entertain you. I want to know more about your beliefs, what appeals, riles, fascinates and triggers you. I want to know what makes you glow and dim. to watch you paint with different hues, form various constellation and explore the black hole of unexplored matter. I want to converse about the uncanny topics and the stigmatized ones. To know more about the philosophy, biology and chemistry of your existence and this world. I want to know about the intricacy, profundity and complexity around rather than keep to the surface topics.

I forgive you for hurting me.
I forgive you for lying to me,
for betraying me,
for leaving me all alone,
and for ignoring me.
I forgive you
Because hating you hurts.
The memories are like anchor holding me back
Thinking about you.
That time just makes my
Wounds sore,
Brain bruise,
Heart heavy
and the poison in my veins
is hurting me.
So I forgive you.
I know the poison will leave slowly,
so I forgive you to heal me.
I’ll let go of the grudges
To find peace.

Your vision was the blend of cultures,
welcoming them onto the progressing lands
as if it was there own.
Your passion of justice extinguished every fire
and your endless kindness
diminished hunger of the starving
and quenched those thirsty.
Your heart was vast
and character so true and principled
that hoped to strengthen and empower the youth
to achieve its best
so your essence carries on
for you have risen to great heights
and news of you have spread.

Why do you give your heart
to the ones who carelessly drop them?

Why do you give your heart
to the ones who engrave their name,
scaring it with memories
and then leave it deserted?

Why do you give your happiness
to the ones who leech it out of your life?

Why do you root yourself into their
hearts, intertwining with them emotionally so quickly?

You know better than
to let them wound you.

But I don't know who they
are unless I give them.

Invisible people
Figment of my imagination
Borrowed in my subconscious
touching and reaching
grabbing and pulling
whispering and fueling
Fear and doubt
Insecurities and pain
Every second
Of every day.

Their whispers
perforates my self-esteem
withers my self-belief
deteriorates my self-image.

My mind feels like a battlefield
A constant fight of not caring
of what they think
or say.

For there are days
When I set my mind
In to prioritizing my moment
passion, purpose, fun, and life
And not care.

But some days
they encroach into my mind
Seep through the cracks
Diffuse between the synapses
firing terror.

Letting me stare once more
at my own abyss.

An autoimmune of a nation,
why are you letting your wrath
stemmed from crisis
burst open like lysosomes?
Why do you digest
yourself and one of your own?
Don't you take pride
when the one who has the same
nation weaved on his skin
uplifts the wavering flag of your land?

Why would you mute
and suppress them
rather than water them,
like the beautiful nature that
blooms from your own ground?
Why would you steal
and harm your brothers and sisters,
letting your mentality succumb
to toxic-narrow confinements?

My heart is pacing
thudding against my ear drums
like I just ran a marathon.

I feel nauseous and light.
Breathe
But somehow this word doesn't seem to make a difference.
Breathe
But no sir seems to find a way into my lungs.
Breathe
But somehow all I find myself is being a sympathetic nervous system.
With self doubt crashing
and enveloping me.

My hands are trembling with
jittering nerves passing underlyingly.
Somehow nothing is soothing
Or calming me.

I kept it in;
the words,
the pain,
the sea lapping against the **** walls
constantly urging to spill.

But I silenced the crashing waves,
muted my voice box
while it was hurting me.

I was internally raging and bleeding
but there were no bruises,
scars or lines for you to read.
Just a plastered smile on my face
while I was sulking internally.

I was choking on the words within me
Hoping my feelings would drown
Hoping that I would forget
But I never did.

They lived
ebbing and flowing through my veins
Making me feel Inhibited and limited
Till it broke open and rained down.

No one could see
Till the day tears started to roll down my cheeks
And that's when everything started
to come down as ashes
words and bullets.

Deeper than the captivating shape it has,
Lies a greater purpose it stands for.
So vast and strong,
It rotates laterally
and extends at your will.

It stands strong, defying gravity
cushioning you for your comfort
and holding your pelvis still.

So appreciate it for more than it's curves;
stand tall and thank your behind
when you bend.

For it is greater than
it seems.

Happpiness what do you taste like?
Are you the sweet taste of cloudy cotton candy on my tongue
Or the warm coffee I drink in the morning?

Happiness what color are you?
Are you the yellow color of sunshine beaming in the morning
Or the calming ocean blue?

Happiness what do you sound like?
Are you the soothing voice that says I love you
Or the laughter that vibrates my ear drum?

Happiness what do you feel like?
Are you embracement in her hug
Or the feel of the way that this pen feels as I let it craft and stroke my emotions into lines?

Happiness are you the vibrant energy of her presence?

Because my senses are numb to you
and all I sense is the abyss,
while warm tears trail down my cheeks
and I feel nothing.

She sat there with her rusty voice box, a  drought on her tongue and a pen aching to flood the pristine sheet with blue ink.
She poured pain into words of refuge and tucked the love etched memories into words.
She wrote to the ones she loved, who made her heart beat ever so intensely. For who rooted her strengthening her spine with courage. For the ones who betrayed, abandoned and hurt making her swallow sorrows whole on empty stomach.
She undressed her truth as she painted shades of past, resurfacing the suppressed from the dustiest parts of her mind, reigniting the dying embers. As she wrote thoughts screamed to be heard, memories weeped to be replayed as she crafted sentences, paragraphs, beginning and ends, sunrises and sunsets; the breathing of her heart allowing her to feel a sense of relief.
But she never sent them, for they were riskier to be read by them than to be tucked safely away.

It arrives uninvited.
Quietly seeping in like toxic gas,
suffocating and poisoning
any thought etched with love,
leeching its happiness.

It unpacks anxieties,
dressing me in layers of loathing;
scraping insecurities
to let it rage on my being.

It gently coaxes my mind
painting every thought a shade darker
letting it heavy
myself to detachment.

It purrs and studies
getting comfortable;
morphing reality into a self made purgatory.

Slacking and barely coping with the pace of reality,
it tears fibers to root itself
allowing it to grow with every beat
leaving no energy to breathe.

Emptiness
Loneliness
Detachment
Stillness
are all back,
heaving my eyelids
leaving a trail of labels
down to my chin.

Until my hollow structures
implode into dark matter
leaving me one with the abyss.

Your language is empathy
Your power is vehemence.
You have a searing pursuit of understanding
and the ability arouse curiosity.

Conversing with you is like
naming stars,
creating constellation with them
It is observing the intricacy, profundity and complexity of this world;
Delving deeper into the ocean
and a black hole of unexplored matter
as you paint extravagant pictures with words.

You made me feel heard
the days I was mute
Seen,
the days I was invisible.

Thank you for asking me what I thought,
for making me feel it mattered.
Thank you for reaching out,
when I needed it the most.
Thank you for inspiring me
to be vocal about my thoughts and passions.
Thank you for being an integral
part of the person I am today.
Thank you for brewing the oceanic-galactic tea.

I heard the lines you never said.
I care for you,
but not as much I do for her.
I love you,
but not as much as I love her.
For I was the girl that could never make you happy
as much as her smile simply did.

She is the unsung lyrics,
the pieces of her favorite quotes stitched together.
When one plucks the lyre of her heart
melancholy melody soothes another heart.

She is a pallet full of rich and moody colors.
Sometimes she is bold like the streak of red of the sky at dawn
or delicate as soothing soft colored pastels.
At times she's vibrant
with her colors high on hue
and at times she is dim and quite.

She is contoured with passion;
whirlwind of colors
coaxing the brushstroke
as she is canvassed.

She is the evocative strokes
of a tempestuous soul
of curious contrast;
an exquisit chaos.

She is the raw,
broken tiles pieced together
into a mosaic
s intricate masterpiece like picasso's.

Her body
Her soul
is constantly moulding
sculpting into a phasing masterpiece.

She is an album;
a gallery.
She wasn't built to validate
to be understood
and loved by all
She's supposed to make you feel in the way she thought.

For she is the enigmatic narrative of her truth
and a beautiful ambiguity.

I would've torn myself
limb from limb
to appease your hunger
but you still would't have wanted me.

I would've broken my bones
to build you a throne
but you still wouldn't have wanted me.

I would've wrung myself dry of blood
to quench your thirst
but you wouldn't have wanted me.

I would've skinned myself
to stitch you clothes
but you still would't have wanted me.

I would've burned myself
to keep you warm
but you would still leave.

To be in the eyes of others,
your name on their tongue
you can not control whether
poison or honey drips from their tongue.

Some marker your skin with their opinions,
and dissect the capillaries of your life.
Examining the intricacy,
scrutinizing and doubting
the flesh you wear,
the work you do,
the person you are.

Some compliment,
support
and believe
making you feel full;
a whole
and leave you overflowing with love.

It is ironic
how some see the same parts of you
as light
whereas others see it as dark.
The best parts of you
as the worst
and your strength
as the lack of you.

So dear one,
don't let their perceptions
poison your intention.