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adshimabuko May 2017
Flashes strike my mind
Like when I said
I miss you so much
So much that
I will never let go,
I promise,
I promised

Of dreams
Where I find myself
Asking you to stay
Asking you to tell me you did love me
And you answering
“yeah, yeah, yeah”

Of places we never saw
Of smiles we never gave
Of words that refused to
Leave our hearts

Only flashes I repeat
How only now
I can fathom it
Hindsight is 20/20
Hindsight makes it
Look obvious now

How I wasn’t ready to love
How you weren’t ready to give
How it wasn’t the right time
To fall in love
To fall out of love
To fall
Just to fall

I keep calling for this voice
Different, not warm
Not cold either
Just plain

Plain in a way that
Finally makes me love myself again
Despite you
Despite the mistakes
Despite this cold weather

These brand new eyes
Of a brand new being
That shines more humbly
Than any light I’ve ever seen

That cares deeper
And harder and in ways
No one’s ever cared about

My scars
The ones that
You failed to see
He sees
He cures

The cure,
No one ever notice they’re sick
Home sick of their old selves
Until someone tells them
“hey, you're different”
& they mean
“you changed, you lost yourself”

You should look at yourself now
And look at me
Look at the moon
Look at the stars
Look at the way
He looks at me
He pays attention
Like the world is inside my heartbeat

You can hear music in me
Hear all the songs I lost along the way
And finally remembered

And they’re louder than ever
adshimabuko Sep 2016
it was the you when you were thirteen, right?
the one who fell in love for the first time
with the guy who said he liked you first,
the you who thought you'd win a prize someday & do something to change the world

it was the you from when you were fifteen
who started drinking at parties even though
you hated how alcohol tasted & the one who danced so desperately to make a tool notice you

maybe it was also you who wished you had your best friend's parents instead of yours on your sixteenth candle & then cried at night for even thinking about it

was the seventeenth version of you who kissed so many unfamiliar lips that forgot how caring tasted? or, the one who swore on blood to never get hurt again so you started hurting them first?

there are twenty one "you" already so you place them all in a table, only to find out you forgot to wash all the dishes before setting them, so you begin asking how they've been but you already know the aswer since no one has even tried to touch the cutlery
adshimabuko Sep 2016
when she lays down in her bed
thinking, where did they go wrong?

thinking, since when it became a matter of "when"
rather than "if"
and she smiles,  they both smile
and nothing's wrong

she repeats to herself "nothing's wrong"
and they both nod
it is as if brainwash was a common procedure
and you both washed off happy years
and the song you liked as a child
now only reminds you of it
"i love you, you love me"
who the hell loves who?

there are more than missing pieces of my heart
i have no memories
i have no soul
they swap theirs as well
and turned dreams into nothing
and the hint of a smile in her mouth whispers,
"nothing's wrong"

and nothing's wrong
because it is common for this to happen
and the didn't give her a golden star for holding back her tears

and they say "it'll be okay"

and the saddest part is,
it will actually will
eventually will

because marriage it's just a paper contract
and divorce it's just to break it.
adshimabuko Sep 2016
at night people drown in drinks and shots
while some of us turn catharsis into art
guess i could take your tequila and spill it on a napkin
so i can name the masterpiece "love's been lost for too long"

agonizing chants in unison that some of the 'sober us' wouldn't understand
how "take your shirt off" can sometimes mean
"peel your skin back and show me your soul"

and the barman mixes rainbow drinks that color up the night for
'the lonely us'
and there are no lovers waiting home
just dusty cd's that have the magic power
to make our eyes water black teardrops and turn whiskey into
'holy water'

sometimes i wonder the possibility of
planting a coin in my backyard
and water it with ciroc thinking
"maybe i can grow love out of it"

i should be replaying voices of ghosts saying
'i love you and i will never let you go'
but all that comes along are chants
of drunken nights and people dialling numbers that never pick up

see, you only need nine numbers to swallow tears and get the courage to jump off from the thirteenth floor
or maybe you could write a story
in which all of us get our happy ending
adshimabuko Sep 2016
see, i've been washing poetry away for so much time i can no longer tell when was the last time i held a pen to turn bad things into metaphors so that non of you would understand

see, i think no one's ever written about how writer's block can drive oneself insane, how similar it is to waking up one day and finding out that you don't feel the same way about someone you madly loved the night before things got complicated

see, when ideas flow you cannot stop them from coming and when they don't you can't evoke them

puking memories seem like the best way to keep people intrested in your writing but we're all aware that memory and oblivion are besties and we all are masters in the field of patching up the original memory so what we write is nothing but fakeness

see, my teacher said "whatever phenomenom you see in the sky probably happened a million light years before", so some of the stars we see are dead, so all of the wishes we made are stardust, not even, they didn't even reach the shooting star on time

maybe my poetry is just like that, you see, whatever i write happened so long ago, you can take it as a lie once true or as something that mattered so much and now it doesn't
adshimabuko Nov 2014
i remember your empty look
and the way you held your prinde
and me,

watching in the distance
watching you try to fix yourself
withouth me,

i don't get what changed in your head
but i'm not going to find your old self

i don't want to waste my life
in a bar,
drinking love until  it leaves a scar

the heat in my heart,
no longer catching fire

though i recall the constellations
that i once drew
with the freckles
of your back
adshimabuko Nov 2014
there is no poetry left in my hands
i've washed them so many times
the heart-shaped birthmark between my fingers
is starting to disappear

my knuckles forever white
and deep pressed sharp nail scars in my right hand
screaming "we've missed you for too long"

iridescence cannot repeat itself in two different beings
we became so inextricable
you took some parts off of me
when you ripped yourself away

i've merged too much in you
i still haunt myself singing the chorus of your favorite song at 4am
and trying to imagine the way you breathe
so i can sync with them

i've imagined you so many times
i can no longer recall your real face
i've picture us together so many times

i'm starting to think the new girl you are in love with
sometimes look a little bit like me
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