How do you prepare to lose a soulmate? To say goodbye because saying anything will be the end? It’s a slow death. A slow death that will haunt you until the end.

Th end.

But they never knew the silence was her cry for help.

Another day locked in this cage.

I want to die.

Can someone take the pain away?

I’ll trap you inside these lines so maybe then you will always be mine

Love isn’t meant to be a heavy thing.

Yet every time I fall it seems to crush me.

And all of a sudden, I was beginning to lose my breath and the room was spinning.

But then again, maybe it wasn’t love I was falling into, just the suffering in your eyes and the way you held yourself throughout the lonely nights.

I wanted to write  about something happy.

I wanted to write about love, but realized nobody wants to hear that.

To write about someone else.
How they walk, how they talk and  how you talk about them way too much.

“It’s all too mundane,” everyone  would say.


Yesterday night, I slept by your side and that’s all I needed that the time.

To wrapped in your arms.

“Mundane!” They would say.

Yesterday morning, I heard your voice on the other end of the line and that’s all I needed at the time.

Last week, I didn’t want to leave your house. I wanted to stay there on your couch watching tv till I heard God speak himself

Until I heard his voice on the other end of the line which will be never so really, last week, I wanted to stay with you forever  , but nobody wants to hear that.

“Still too mundane!” They would all say.

A few nights ago, your sister told me, “our father didn’t start hitting women until he was twenty so you’ve got time.”    

A few nights ago you told me you were going to propose.  

Today, I was lying in my bed wondering to myself in my head if I wanted to spend the rest of my life someone who might hit me.

“Maybe he wouldn’t.” I said.

But maybe he would.

“Now were getting somewhere.”

Maybe it would be on our first night of marriage or maybe our 40th.

We would get into some petty little argument and it would just happen faster then I could snap my fingers.

Yesterday night, I slept by your side and that’s all I needed that the time.

“Mundane!” they would say.

You wrapped me in your arms so tight, I started to lose my sight. I couldn’t breath, but for a second, I felt relieved.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I remember one day you said to me, “ I would never hit you.” And that’s all I needed at time.

I wanted to write about something happy. I wanted write about love, but realized nobody wants to hear that.


To write about someone else. How they walk. How they talk. How they talk about their father and wishes him dead, how they snap in an instant, how they break things and don’t know how it fix them!

“Now we’re getting somewhere .”

He moved back to the city.
I never cared for the crowed.

He stayed the same with the same girls with the same job.

The scent of cigarettes will always stain his clothes.

The smell of misery smeared all over his skin .

Every time I see him, I am reminded
Of the suffering I carried for years and years and how i mistook it for love.

For kindness
For a kind gesture
For, “maybe this time, I’ll make him stay.”

Do you know what I had to do to make him stay?

Set fire to my own body and destroyed it from the inside out.
Killed every part of me I ever liked and wore his hurt like a new dress.

Wore it proud. Wore it around. Wore it out.

Wore it down until every fiber of myself  was gone.

Losing yourself all at once is like a dream. A Terrible terrible dream, but I lost myself slowly. Lost myself in pieces trying to find peace of mind.

Now that is a nightmare.


I was hanging onto a love that didn’t  exist.  To a broken boy I couldn’t resist and when I thought I’d die but didn’t, I asked myself, “is that all there is?”

And in black holes beneath  the sun is where silence lived.

I clung on to every bit of life it had left.  Mirrored its steps and consumed its pain until one day, it cried out and said to me, “Go away, I don’t want you anymore.”

In the end, even I made silence want to speak.  Want to cry. Want to leap out of its skin and shout.

The universe is trying to tell me something.
She’s locked away in this golden brick cage and the walls are chipping; falling towards bay.

Her muffled screams are parting the seas. You see it’s a mistake I always made; trying to love that wild thing.

I lay here in this tiny white bed and let the monster slowly take me.

Wrap it’s hands around my throat.

We’ve both been on this boat before.

But I could jump of.

I could disappear.

Like a rose, you pulled me out from my roots.
plucked me apart and claimed it was love.

I am skin.
I am bones.

I am no one known.

I am ashes tricked with honey.
Flesh seeping with milk, but I will find a way.

I will learn to cry...

Where there is poetry, there will be pain and where there is pain, there is mangled bodies who have sold for millions.

Turned into words that sound so pretty. And isn’t it so ugly?

we torture ourselves and destroy our skin for art.

Turn love into making a living just  so someone could listen.

Just so someone could say, “Well done, you made it.”

But what is a poet with no audience?

Just a tormented soul swallowed whole by an unknown creature with meaningless word and only silence to give.