and at the end of a busy day, i still wonder how you are. i wonder how your day went. i wonder how many times those lines in your forehead creased from confusion or anger or curiosity. i wonder how many times your eyes disappeared when you laughed. did you even laugh today?
that day, i knew i wasn’t anyone special to you. i was just someone who stayed for a while. someone you thought would leave you. i proved you right, didn’t i? i did leave. but i still think about you all the ******* time.
but don’t we all have someone we secretly look out for but don’t talk to anymore?
I peel my lips until there’s blood on my fingertips
Bite my inner cheeks ‘til I taste rust on my tongue
Rip the skin off the corners of my nails
And do things to amplify the pain
I stare at the sun until I’m blinded by its brightness
Hold my breath until claws split my mouth open
Punch walls until my hands are too frail to move
But I do nothing to heal
I fall too easily for those who never notice
I care too much for those who never looked my way
I try so hard to fix myself every time I fall
But end up being sliced by yet another force
I torture myself by paying attention
To those who gave me heartbreaks
I can’t seem to rid myself of stupidity
I can’t seem to rid myself of weaknesses
Who says you need others to break
When your will is enough to destroy your soul
Who says you need others to bleed
When everything you are is enough to cut you open
where did i lose my warmth?
at which place had i turned my switch?
in starbucks? secondhand bookstores?
was it in the local bar or the liquor store?
in houses i crashed, couches i spent the night on
or of dorm rooms i slept at and sheets i found comfortable?
to what girl had i offered it in lieu of the rush?
had i made the trade with the girl
who dragged me through unlit streetlights
as she had her lips perched on mine,
opened my heart with intensity that made her tremble
and eventually turned me into a massive mess.
was it her? i was always too drunk to recall.
or perhaps i gave it away, little by little
to the bartender in a black shirt
with a walrus at the back,
and his sadness was seen in his eyes every night.
we never really spoke.
i ask for shots, he gives them to me.
but he understood. i know he always did.
he looks at me in a way.
all fuckups know why we do the things we do
was it with him?
or was it the cigarette lady
from where i lit my first menthol stick
and swallowed the cough
that i really wanted to release?
maybe it goes farther back
had i lost my warmth in words?
in unsent text messages?
literature? poetry? essays? prose?
metaphors – not at all.
i lost it when i was eight
when i knew about my father's infidelity
when i felt my first rejection
when i felt so unwanted
when my heart broke for my mom
there, in that very dark room had i lost it all.
but the better question should be:
was it ever there?
to get in my system
no matter how I exert
effort to ignore your
You’ve managed to
make my heart
feel the warmth of
But it didn’t occur
in my mind that
you’ll make it colder
than it was before
Making me wonder,
am I made to be cold
There are days when words are rushing through my mind, just waiting to be written. I attempted to write about you but words don't seem to add up. They can't seem to find the right positions.
It was all chaotic - the beautiful kind of chaos. I believe that there's a reason why I can't unscramble the words and decipher what I truly want to say, what I feel deep inside.
It's quite ironic how I'm in love with the idea of you, but never with the idea of us. It's a concept that I have never imagined coming together.
Just like words, there are words that are beautifully written, having the most colourful meanings, but they just don't make sense when they are combined. That's how I feel about us.
You have knocked on the high walls
I've built for myself.
I let you in, believing that maybe
you found something about me,
that would make you stay.
I disregarded my walls for you,
but I shouldn't have.
I learned my lesson the hard way -
I should never break down for people
who wouldn't even try to climb them.
I was giving you an ocean,
but you were holding a cup.
Maybe I loved you
more than you wanted to be loved.