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  11h The Young Poet
I make things harder than it needs to be.
Its like I enjoy the melancholic feeling every time I think of you
but I don't,
truth is,
I did this to myself,
I was the one who lit up the matches and watched them burn to the end;
flame touching my fingers,
the ever so burning sensation I get when I'm reminded that my own self sabotage let you go.
Its not enough though,
to go back to you.
Trust me when I say that the thing in life I wish I had the most right now would be you,
your hand in mine
but the feeling I get when you hand actually touches mine, the slightest bit, isn't what I expected.
I made it like this
I ruined such a perfectly good thing, and there's no way I'm getting it back.
- I wrote this in the past, and the next thing you know, We're back together and I don' know what to do with myself anymore.
The mirage of the naive sunsets
dawns upon me as the debts
of an unknown world
presents the swirled
twists that lured the mature
to manifest its charm to endure
the gnarly waves of emotions,
the winds of commotions,
the thunders of  freedom
for executing the wisdom.

The veils of innocence
revealed my ignorance,
that remained hidden
as I explored the forbidden.
The roots remain nurtured,
for I shouldn't get weathered
in the calamities of the times,
that may wipe off smiles.
He asked her what it's like living with anxiety.

She smiled sadly, "It's a never-ending pulse-race. Like knowing you don't want to jump off a cliff but not being able to talk yourself down from it.

Your fears take on a nebulous, unidentifiable form that tightens around your throat and incapacitates you.

There is no calm. No peace. Only the edge of a very strained thread."
My Grandma used to be my biggest fan
She used to take me to the park, buy me ice cream
Push me on the swings till I couldn't see the trees

She used to take me to the zoo, point at the animals
Buy me cuddly souvenirs of each of them in the gift shop

She used to take me to the supermarket
Push me in the trolley and buy me a cream cake at the end

My Grandma was the one who told me to write stories
She used to make me cheesy pasta and we'd read together
Stories about dinosaurs and princesses and little girls with coloured hair

That was before she grew old

Now my Grandma sits in her chair
Her skin as thin as paper
Withered bones from old age

My Grandma doesn't really remember my name anymore
Doesn't really know what I look like
Can't really hear what I say

She's not really interested in my life anymore
Only in soaps on telly and other people's lives

My Grandma used to be my biggest fan
Now she doesn't really know who I am
Growing old is hard
I could have said a million things
in a million different ways.
All of which would have made you stay
a million more days.
But when the time came,
I thought about the future,
and I could never say with confidence
that my feelings would stay the same.
In the end, I couldn't let my fears
break my heart or yours.
Not when there's a million other doors
to open and explore.
  Oct 9 The Young Poet
My heart didn't break when you said No to me
Nor when you said "can we still be friends"
Neither did it break when you got with another man
My heart was still whole when I realized i spent four years chasing after you
My heart didn't break when my friends made fun of you for my benefit.
My heart didn't break for the past year when i was in regret
My heart didn't break when i decided it was time to move on.
My heart broke a month ago when you told me you regret saying NO to me.
  Oct 9 The Young Poet
Being blocked from your life
Made my tears turn red
You can't hear my screaming
As I beg and call your name
I yell for forgiveness
As I feel the heavy shame
As much as you were right
Your move on was too soon
By leaving my life
You took away my sun and moon
I bang on the keyboard
As I curse my own name
For I knew my heavy loss
Was me, myself, to blame
My body trembles in anger
My cries becoming airlessly silent
Not knowing if I will ever see you again
Has me so terribly frightened...
The other half of my heart
Is sadly, what you've taken.
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