I want the cliche romance.
I want all the cheesy stuff.
Yeah I want some flowers.
And yeah I want to call you.
I want to write you more letters.
I want to play tag and be the 'it'.
I want my poems to wage and weather.
I want heart-shaped ****.
I want to ask you to come over.
I want to talk more and more.
I want to catch up.
I want to know you again.
I want to cook us dinner.
I want us to leave laughters at every corner.
I want us to move furniture.
I want us to levitate to somewhere higher.
Ah, I want us.
I want to break the fixtures.
I want you to show me how good it can get.
I want you to teach me all the ways to get a woman wet.
I want your heavy breaths.
I want you covered in sweat.
I want to get back at the noises of my neighbors.
I want them to hear my moans and screams of pleasure.
I want them more annoyed than ever, even angered.
I want them to report me to the property manager.
Oh God, how I want you.
I want us to touch the sky, taste heaven together.
I want to kneel, in prayer.
I want to pray better.
I want to play my cards like I have never.
I want to play house forever.

¿Fue culpa tuya o fue culpa mía?
¿Soy el que lo encendió?
Creo que simplemente me rendiré
y me incriminaré.
¿Pero fuiste tú quien lo empezó?
Creo que simplemente cantaré
y me encerraré.
Ahora no importa quién empezó qué,
lo que importa es quién lo termina y cuándo.
Pero ahora no importa cómo termine,
ya estoy quemado por el puta cortocircuito.
Pero, sabes que? Seguro que lo sabes.
Que por ti volvería a electrocutarme.
Por ti lo haría todo una y otra vez.
Así que acércate más, más cerca que nunca,
ven, y tócame, devórame.
¿Será mi culpa o tu culpa?

I already know the answer.
So what if I have been thinking about you still? What about it?
What if I have been imagining how good your kiss must feel? What of it?
So what if I have been dreaming about what could have been? What is it to you?
What if you were here right now because you want to tell me something? What is it?
I know the answer.
I know it as I would know my own letters.

So what if I have been thinking about your touch, but this time, in places nobody knows where? Oh well, now neither do you.
So what?
So what if I have been imagining doing things with you, sort of things that you can now only imagine and think about too?
Now what?
So what if I am still here, writing poems?
So what if I am hiding, like Texas hold ‘em?
But I understand.
Like I do the lines on the back of my hand.

And so what if I have been daydreaming of sitting on a field on a sunny day with you?
So what if I’m imagining you taking my sundress off, like tearing petals down?
What about it?
So what if I imagine us having cute picnics and then making a mess of the picnic mat every single time, like it’s a routine?
So what?
So what if I think about these kind of things when you clearly don’t want them or don’t want anything at all, what pain it brings!
So what is it to you?!
Well, no problem, I heard.
Loud and clear as the chirps of the birds.

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.

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.

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.