They can call me whatever they wish;
a ****, snake, sulutera...
but only you know the truth from my lips.
They can call me by any names;
a *****, abangers, a better girl for you...
as long as we have saturdays and sundays.
They can say anything, talk the talk,
“she’s been waiting”, “she’s this and that!”...
but it's our own garden to water and walk.
This is our year, our best summer,
our year to hiss, kiss, not miss and diss.
This is our year, the year of the lovers,
our year to bite, take flight, dive, feel alive!
Maybe we can take a trip.
Oh, maybe we can double-dip.
Maybe we have learned and grown.
Maybe it’s something I’ve always known.
Maybe we will be friends forevermore.
Oh, maybe we will be so much more,
the most, best, *******.
Maybe this is what we’ve been praying for.
Maybe this is just another funny story
in both of our lore.
Or maybe we’re meant to be together,
like mangoes and summer.

My dearest love,
my tree is ever abundant...

But I will never let you fall.
Rewriting an age-old story,
in fact, I’ll take the fall... I’d even crawl.
And by me, you’ll never be betrayed.
Carving a new rib from my body,
our story won't be one of gray and strays.

I’ll take the fall.
You’ll never be blue.
God can rue me and curse me!

But I will never fail you.
Come closer, take a bite,
you’ll see heaven is true.
And no, you will 𝘯𝘰𝘵 certainly die.
For God may be absolute, yet he lies;
my love for you will always be kind.

For all eternity I will crawl.
You’ll never be hungry with all my fruits.
History, make a villain and fool out of me!

My dearest love,
my tree is ever abundant.
“𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥”,
then call me God of the blind.

Hot ****.
Lucky number eight summers now.
How far we've gone and how we've grown.
How many more until I wear a white gown?
How many several ugly lovers has it been?
I mean, I wanted to ask how have you been?
And how come you haven’t felt it and seen?
I mean, how many years it’s been indeed.
How have you not noticed it?
I mean, wow, hot ****, this heat.
Is it summer now?
I mean, it’s almost Valentine’s now.
Where is my mind?
Do I wear it like a crown or my brow?
Where is my heart?
Is it on my lips, wrists or sleeves?
Is it holy week?
Does anyone know?
Do I jump in a creek?
Is it Valentine’s now?
Do you wanna catch a flick?
Maybe something we both dig?
Is it summer now?
**** it, never been this hot.

We observe. We listen. We watch.
If we, too, will be observed back.
We crucify. We criticize. We ostracize.
Before we, too, will be crucified.
And we read each other
as if our faces are some pages.
And we judge each other
as if our phases are just cases.
But people are not books.
We cannot read each other,
our stories changes and hooks
with every passing hinge and look.
I’d rather we write of each other
as if we are all authors of no horrors.
I’d rather we pen one another,
as if everyone is their own poet and writers.
Because people are poems.
Because we are poetry in flesh.
Because people are problems.
And people are also the solutions.

“𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉.”

So I’ll take and blow a birthday candle.
But I’d rather wish for your healing.
Instead of wishing to touch
your hand again...

“𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅. 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅”

And I’ll make and keep a birthday wish.
But I’d wish you’ll not meet another *****.
Instead of wishing that I’d feel
your kiss and your lips...

𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘓𝘰𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦

There once was a goddess made of gold
Sought by many but only a few can behold

Her beauty the most coveted of all,
An object of desire that is universal

With her golden sight,
She goes deeper than what meets the eye.
With her golden smile,
She radiates her warmth like a summer sky.
With her golden hands,
She unravels tangled heart strands.

But only those
brave enough to delve deep,
and forge their path through shadows steep

Those who dare to see, the courage in her misery
The ones who can feel her soul's mystery,
Can be blessed by the Golden Goddess,
and find the treasure, rare and true—her golden heart.

Oh, what grace it is.
To be Loved by the Lady with the goLden hue.

When I am out and about with my friends,
I am the best lover.
When I am alone and sitting in the dark,
I try to be a stardust.
Whenever I feel happy and content,
I am a little girl.
Whenever I feel down and worried,
I am an old woman.
Whenever I want something,
I am a *****.
Whenever something’s after me,
I am a witch.
Whenever I am free and light,
I am actually sad inside.
Whenever I look frail and in fright,
I actually need someone by my side.
When I am walking at night in the city,
I am guarded.
When I am in the confines of my room,
I am discarded.
When I am sitting in a cafe,
I am the sugar that I didn’t ask for.
When I am stirring my chocolate at home,
I am the salt I mistakenly sprinkled over.
Because I have always been alone,
I am a cold mountain.
But when I felt your touch,
I am but a flower.
Because all I heard are my own cries,
I am a sharp, hot rock.
But when I heard the sound of your voice,
I am but tiny petals under the sun.