Pillows getting tired catching teardrops
Searched for boogeyman underneath,
telling him to dry them this time


Wondering how long this would last
Shall I wait until the sun comes up?

No one knew she's dying to die
No one knew she's counting her breath
No one knew she needed help

But then,
no one also knew she survived alone
Drying up her own tears
picking up her broken glass
putting up a brave face
She did not came out from a storm
For she became one

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

Dragging herself out of bed
She stared at the damp grass ;
stared at the dew that seems to hold
unto the leaf of grudges.

Sipping in the freshness of the day,
a normal day for some ;
a lifetime darkness for her.

She who locks anxiety in her tiny chest,
kept piling up the bricks,
and created a wall of nausea.
She met her demons on a quiet suburb,
wanting them to stay -
for she was high on negativity.

Come and spoil me with your poetry
Undress me with words so enticing
Make love to me like I'm the only girl that exists in this world full of insecurities

We found ourselves smiling
In our tiptoed jokes
and in our drunk compliments

You spilled my wine but I don't care
we went down unto a boiling war
now we sat by the beach,
sunset glaring
and your eyes staring
I can finally say,
in your arms I'm home.

slowly
our tears danced with the rain
and people thought we're doing just fine
doubt and fear created our prison

staring at a warped window
we couldn't even fathom how to survive
the explosion going on in our chests

we couldn't even breathe
we couldn't even run
we couldn't even

Apparently , it was not the wind who told me you left

It was the sudden lightness feeling of my chest
It was the sudden brightness of the sun

It was the sudden laughter I'm no longer faking
It was the monochrome vision coming back to hues

It was the vision of me saving myself from drowning
It was the simple satisfaction of existing

It was happiness finding me again .

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.