She stole my poem,
and so did my heart.
She stole my love
and made days full of open wounds.
She came back,
complaining that she couldn't spell
the words I had written to her in my poem, "how this love is so silent?"

If you want to stop,
stop right now,
because the LOVE will continue
no matter how far the JOURNEY.

She's gone
another two years
with the memory
when I wrote this poem.
She's gone
and I still haven't found
a replacement,
even though I have written
many poems in her memory.
She's gone,
and that was the truth.
But poetry still has to be written,
and memories still have to be kept.
Now there's only one
story left.

Please say my name
and you will remember me again.
I don't want you
to be far from me
like children who are starting
to grow up and forget
their little memories
of running away
from the falling rain
like adults.

Will you remain silent
when you see the many children
who died as a result of the genocide bomb explosions that occurred in Palestine?

Are we just spectators
and consuming this heartbreaking news?

Can we imagine this happening to our family,
our relatives,
those closest to us,
even our country
and our homeland?

Do we really care about humanity?
Do we think that we are nothing
so we cannot change everything,
including eliminating the oppression
that is happening there?

Do we really think like that?
Is that a decent life for all humans?
Don't they also have freedom?
Are we all this?
Please vote, free Palestine!
Free Palestine as we bias ourselves
for a better life,
for a more peaceful life,
for humanity
And for world peace.

I will stand up to support Palestine
Until whenever
Wherever I am
As long as colonialism still exists
I will fight for their freedom
Palestine must be independent
Palestine must be free
Eliminate all forms of colonialism
We all have the right to freedom
In our homeland
For peace
For humanity
For life

I don't know if you are in love with me or not
Can the wind blow my feelings to your heart
and you will be loved?
I only know one thing,
and it is enough for me,
but, I don't know if it is enough for you
Because there are many ways to seek a true love
But I am not smart enough to learn what I feel
So, if it is true, you may notice nothing
Because I love you in silence
That sounds like a loser
So do I
Here I am,
and where is yours?

I'm back to writing poetry again,
but not with the same feeling I had
when I first started writing poetry.

I used to start writing poetry on a blank sheet of paper, and a pen, and sometimes in a lecture notebook, maybe often before going to sleep, also on my smartphone notes.

Now, I'm back to writing poetry again,
but the feeling isn't like before,
for some reason now I seem to have lost interest, different from how I used to be.

I used to write poetry,
sometimes about my days full of emotion, oh no, more precisely about the loss of a lover, yes, I once had a lover, but not now.

I used to write poetry about loss, and everything related to it, maybe it's the rain that keeps falling, or the sunsets, or the lonely and lonely nights.

I used to write poetry about the past, which maybe now I shouldn't care anymore, actually I wanted to write all of that, but I no longer have the feeling.

I used to write poetry, and now I have forgotten many of the words, even the methods, please teach me to write poetry again.

One day you will love the blue sky that I see from here, when you ask me why it took me so long to pick you up after work, even though we spend time together in front of the screen—me, who at that time was still glued to the window; looking at some of the birds that managed to fly high into the sky, I'm sure at that time you were able to count them freely.

Later, if it rains in the afternoon, you will start to love the sun that never sets, telling you one of the most beautiful ways to leave, you will understand why what is far away seems close, and vice versa - you never prepared anything after parting and I are the people you care about; who also understands nothing but happiness.

Later, when the night comes with all its worries, you might find the shadows we've met before, I hope you don't run away. Because, wherever you go, everything will only end up hurting yourself.

You may find another pain from loneliness. Do not be afraid. After all, I've taught you how to sew wounds, even though I used to be blind.

I just want to
    be m  i  s         s  e   d.
I just want to  
be    l  ov     e  d.
I just want to
        be with y               ou
w he n I fe  el a      lone.

I will die alone
as a collection of books
abandoned on an old cupboard,
as a display in all kinds of libraries,
and only some people understand,
but fewer of which we can possibly count as good memories in writings,
even as poetry.

I will die alone,
and remember all forms of joy the latter, as a creature that ever lived,
as a flower which will not bloom again beautifully in the same place.

Today I can write the saddest poem,
like a beautiful birthday cake cut into pieces
or a candle that is blown out after a wish is read
or people congratulating you
on all the achievements
that you have persisted
until now in your growing age.

Today I can write the saddest poem,
but not about my birthday,
but about the days,
about the months,
about the years,
that I've been through,
everything was happy,
yes I am very happy.

When the rain falls
I think about you
My lips meet mugs
The morning coffee
that warms my body
Your love touches my heart
In the city that covered me
On your jacket
And I memorized

Like a dead poem
who must be reborn
on the same night again
with all the endless silence,
words back to learn
to string his sentence.

"Everything that has been exhausted now it's between love and hate."

And a long road engraved
back to make a new face
along with each space.
We try to say the word go,
say the word again.
Everything that looks new
never forget the past.
And for all that is finished,
waiting for another story to the last.

I still write my poem
Even if I don't share my poem with you
And you ask me where I have been
And you don't know why I am not seen
I still write my poem

The poem that tells about me
The poem that tells about you
The poem that tells about us
The poem tells about everything
What we have been through
Even if I never ask for you
I still write my poem

I will tell you as I tell to all my words
When I was writing my poem
And my heart was splitting into two
To convince that love is always true
To convince that love is always right
To convince that hate is always left
And we are together in between
As far as the broken heart symbols should be imagined

Let's talk about revenge,
with a poem that ignites the fire
and then burns an identity.
You will find a sleeping monster within you
that you have been deliberately ignoring.
Let's talk about how an upheaval in the bodies oppressed reality,
a war that rages inside our heads.
I am a liberation warrior.
You are a comrade of struggle.
A spirit that is no longer
only shown in the metaphor of words
or the love of romantic characters
in the love life that haunts adolescence a lot.
Let's talk about revenge,
a fictional monster,
and a boy who stands bullied
wanting to show his identity
in every ******* world order.
Losers behold, those who flock!
And for he has long been alone,
fighting monsters in poisoned brains,
and a stomach that is only the main goal
of fighting for power,
now we are again in vain.
Let's talk, really the truth!
No love grows other than our love for ourselves.
Awaken!
Even if neither you are the hero,
nor the main character!

My heart is burning
and I see a fire burning
Making it ashes that look real and now it is turning
My heart is burning
and you are afraid to see a fire burning
Leaving me with him and never telling me a warning
My heart is burning
and we are no longer staying
Bringing the loves we've found after and now it is loosing
Now, my heart no longer exists
And will your heart be his substitute?
Look inside that furnace
Would you hurt your hand just to save the remains from it?
My heart has burned
And it turns out that love is real

Sometimes,
I want to tell you about the night cold,
and my cigarette lit on my right hand,
and a poem that describes everything
I see the day I pass,
and the sad song,
and dim light on my eyes,
and your eyes will see me from the screen on your phone,
and that melody of a night owl,
and the moon,
and the wind,
and the last breath your fragrance clothes on my jacket,
and your lips hanging out my rose,
I gave you.

I stand for all forms of peace
and against all forms of war.
Can we love each other
as we are human?

Am I still alive when my feelings died?
Yes I died before and you never knew where I was buried
So today I will tell you more and you will know me more
I will tell you about my feelings
But the truth is true when you know all of them
You will receive that I am still waiting to die
With all of the feelings that growing up in my heart day by day
If I speak to you, will you listen?
If I tell you, will you feel like I am a liar?
So let me die at this moment I tell the truth
That I am still alive, and my feelings died,
but I am not heartbroken

My heart goes when it speaks the truth
As the sun rises from the east
And the golden torches all the universe
The way love comes and brings hope.
My heart goes when it speaks the truth
The way wind blows the fragrance flowers
That blossom beautifully
Showed me all colours so we can see,
And we learn that our life is like a rainbow after the rain poured in
So we will together stand to see.
My heart goes when it speaks the truth
After the last day, you leave me
And for now, I will leave you
To see I've loved you,
Don't remember me because my heart always follows the truth
And love always needs to give a peace
On every lip left by a kiss.

One day I will raise my child
like I have raised my feelings,
and it will all grow into something that most people agree on for adults.
One day I will raise my child,
and in the future when the present is something we can live.
One day I will have hope in them
as I hope in myself.

I learned every vocabulary since childhood from every word my mother taught me and I had to remember everything, including the word love.
But I was never taught the meaning of loss after I knew love.
I had to learn to know everything on my own from the experience of growing up.
I may still be learning until now.
And maybe I'll still get another loss.

I want to share
the idea from my mind,
it is all about longing,
and the way I miss you,
but I can't.

And here I am
with all my darkness
trying to enjoy my dim light.

The idea of being forgotten
always be my main ghost.

I

         w          a        n           t



                   t                   o


                          b      e




f
   o
      u
         n















d.

Give me a second to die.
Maybe
I will realize
that my life was special.

The best people
are those around you
right now.
Love them,
and acknowledge
that they are the people
closest to you,
not in the past,
or who you dream of
in the future.

Tear off my chest
and stab my heart
with your dagger,
then I will feel nothing,
because I have died.

Have
      you found
yourself
      inside?

In the end,
I returned to an old feeling
that was over for a moment,
the first time I was in the room
but did not realize that I was too comfortable to leave it.

Neither so wide nor so narrow.
But I felt strange in my room,
even though it was an irony
to live with an old bookshelf
with a collection of books
that I had read through
and had read several times.

I'm still thinking about going back
to reading one of my favourite books at the top of the bookshelf, or better delay, or maybe go back to doing nothing.

And at a real age,
we should understand better,
which makes us more comfortable and happy, which worries us more about what we can't achieve, it's good that I should stay here.

I'm a stranger again and arrived among all the boisterous childhood hopes that are trying to be realized in a real future that we never know the end of, and those around who are observing, and even the closest people which we are not aware of its role.

I might prefer the past,
and maybe I'll still be there
waiting for a line to get its turn,
even at death,
or maybe I'll be like one with anxiety sufferers,
which they then say is crazy,
observed a dim lamp hanging in a room that was only large enough for one person,
fell and then broke apart,
then it was pitch black.

I admit
that a form of alienation is created when all is no longer here,
and even in the dark,
and then they realized
that life had known light so much.

But, just one breath.
We're over.

I let the death follow me
I do not care if he runs faster than me
So I let the death take the lane we race together
And I hope we can be a friend in the end after

He may finish and win the race
And I may still fight and never know what I face
I realize that the life is not about competition
So I find my own way to know my passion

It is not about I am too young to die
It is about I am a human as long as I can give a beautiful goodbye
Yes, the life is too short to hate
So I practice how the love works and I try to bet

I do not let myself die in pain
And I do not let myself be suffer without gain
I am not afraid if I die now
And I am not afraid if they don't impress me without say, Wow!

Because God flows through my vein
and dances around in my brain

She keeps writing many poems
and does not care when her writings
does not get many readers.
She keeps herself from the pain she gets and she loves it.
The way she looks
and the way she smiles
we can see by reading all her writings.
She has many friends with the words she writes
and she gets many loves with the world she lives.
The only way to find her home
is by reading it at all.
She is the princess of the words.

I said, "Keep going!"
Let's the pain be your friend!
Let's the pain feel that it's not enough to push you down!
I just need finish this race through my line.
I said, "Keep going!"
I said, "There'se no future. All you know right know is a dream!"
I said, "Keep going!"
to myself.
Whatever, it takes.

Poetry
is a drug
for me
that sometimes
makes me
addicted.
And now
I'm trying
to get away
from it.

The last kid
in this world
was followed by death
but he did not care about it
because everyday
he'd been living in fear
surrounded by adult
who never understood him.
The last kid
in this world
never had a friend.
And the death
offered himself to be.

We all have the ability to suffer
when it comes to love.
We all have the ability to get the pain when expectations run away from our brain.
The reality always hits you.
And here I am in.
So let's get all of them create you become an art.
This poem may not get you
but it is better to share with you.
You may not realize who you are now,
until someone tells you,
someone that you didn't know before;
the strangers in your mind.

We need to stop for a moment
and take a breath to be able
to return to what we hoped for.

Like remembering childhood
and the ways we learn to grow into adults
even though we never really understand anything that we have been through;
playing football in the field next to the house after school,
or rent a game console set for a weekend night,
or spend the next day watching television cartoons.

Let's remember what memory has given us for the good things in the past
that we may now think of as something we can't get back.

It's true, that never happens again, even if we try,
but the feeling is no longer the same as childhood being put on things
that should now earn an adult title.

Let's laugh in silence at all the fond memories of childhood,
even though now voices of the pain of waking up are trying to come in and dominate.

Let's reminisce,
and lose ourselves
in the hope of the present.

Losing you
is a bitter taste
on my lips.
And I was a child
who had to learn
to know
there was a taste
other than
sweetness.

now here I am
and my demon
sitting beside me
we don't
have to fight
each other
because both of us
are friends
I am tired
and less have energy
we need a peace
to rest
the war should be finished

and we see a paper ****
and words are decorations on her body
and poems are pretty clothes for her
and this feeling is for you
and we see a paper ****
and a pen lying on the table
and you're the one
who's been silent
waiting for love to air
and the poet reads it

I set myself not to be in love
in the same way I'd ever taken
because sometimes I know
I will get the same pain
and give me the same wound.

I set myself not to be in love
with the same person in the past
even though it will be hard
to challenge myself to forget
and also to pass,
because the memories still stay
and I will say that's the last.

I set myself not to be in love
but I think my heart opens
and my feeling is hidden treasure because all I have is only the way
I can keep my own, that's enough.

Writing
is not just about therapy,
but it is the love
that makes something impossible
become possible.
You will grow
among them in hope
and you will decide
to appreciate yourself
in the end.

At the limit of doubt,
you **** me with time,
we fail again to plan a love
that is almost done.

Here I am sitting
on my comfortable chair
enjoying my new years eve
smoking cigarette
and reading Zarathustra.

This is my first poem
in 2022!

Just take it easy.
Love your life now.
Be better.
Do better.
Grow better.