I write because I too am human
When I'm with myself, I yearn for love
I look through the lens of a ghost long gone
Much like a red rose thirsting for the blue

Without life
Lack of foundation
No one to hold it
Let me bleed on this empty canvas

The pen is my knife
Blackened by the soot of anguish
The quivering heart, trembling hands
My last invoice for the gift of life

This is not a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is not romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.

This is a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.
I think-

— c.s wondering