when you get
over someone
with time
you see clearly
why that lover
was better left
as a memory.

it is an
achievement
to remain soft
in this world
to absorb
to feel
to bend
but never break.

to the women who
dance in the rain
who aren't afraid to
carry on through
doubt and despair
your existence
is necessary.

there is no such thing
as a right partner
you must first
learn to embody
your truth
you must first
become the
right partner so
that the right partner
can find you.

when they ask you to
write more happy poems
tell them about the sorrow
tell them how it is the
only thing that keeps
your pen going.

your body
is not a debt
to be paid
it is a home
for your soul
a safe space
for the softeness
in your bones
it's a miracle
of its own.

if you
find yourself
constantly trying
to translate your soul's
language for them
they're not the
one for you.

sometimes
love can be
incredibly fulfilling
and intensely emptying
at the same time.

i wonder
if it's him i hate or
the way he makes me feel.

there is poetry
in the way the tongue
falls in love with the body

and there is poetry in
the way the body yearns
for it every time ever since then.

you and i
we'll move on
and forget all of this.

and maybe we'll even
find whatever it was that
we were looking for elsewhere.

and perhaps
we'll understand
why it ended the way it did.

but what we had
was precious and it'll
always exist somewhere.

in dying leaves and
the silences we shared
and maybe, the moon too.

run away
from the
pretty lies
the in-between
fake promises
the guilty
eye contacts
the half-hearted
apologies.

the thing
that upsets me
about people is that

they mistake
ashes for weakness
and i find it ugly because

when i bloom
i rise from the ashes
regardless of their oblivion.

the next time
you try to rub salt
in my wounds

i'll smile at you
with apathy
because

i've already
hit rock bottom
and made it
back home.

i am
no longer
broken bones
and weary tears.

i collapse
occasionally
but i keep breathing.

the thing about us is
that both of us long for the
flames but are scared of the ash.

i love
how he
kisses me.

how
he almost
steals the air
from my lungs.

how
he makes
me oblivious to
the air around me.

you're the home
i never had
the waves
i never surfed
the roads
*i never took.

i heard
you're in pain.
come to me.
i'll wash your
sorrows and
cleanse your
realms of pain
with the scent
of home.

The best gift
you can
ever give to
someone is
your playlist.
Give them all
your favorite songs.
It'll be like giving
away a musical
representation
of your soul.

she was born
with rage in
her blood and
a fire in her
heart.

you reek of
mediocrity
and i'm the
daughter of
the tides.
raw and
insatiable.
raging with
passion.

Adore the
essence of
simplicity.
There is a
joy in living
with less.

I know the universe is huge
and I'm always wandering from
place to place but of everywhere
I've ever been, the only place
I crave is your arms.

But darling,
hearts that
have been
shattered
will only
go on to
love
stronger.

sometimes we run
into the arms of
a terrible person
just in an attempt
to escape a
broken heart.

Do not let my
pale skin befool you
for beneath this flesh,
I harbour a
colourful soul.

loneliness
tastes like
warm whiskey

you claimed
to be
scared of
commitment
and yet i see
those tattoos
pierce your
skin.

your
scars
turn
me
on.

You know you're
a poet when
you can physically
hear every atom
of your body crying
and you choose to
pour the anguish
on paper.

i often find myself
chasing people
who don't
intend to
stay.

It's almost noon
with the sun
burning up my skin
and yet I see
stars when I look
into your eyes.

Do not seek
refuge in people.
People are transient
like the phases of the moon.

Holding on to grudges
is like drowning in an ocean.
Only that the ocean is hate
and the waves are poison.

I slept fine last night.
But I woke up hungover.
I must have dreamt about you.

And sadly,
there are
no hospitals
for souls.

Write me at night
under the lamplight
where you can hardly
make out the outline
of my ugly, pale face.
Do you, darling, see
the fading lamplight
in my twinkling eyes?
Oh just write me
a beautiful scene of
our long lost paradise.

I'm both too much
and too little,
a full moon and
an eclipse;
I have never
known balance.

You can't unsubscribe to memories.

There is sacred geometry
in the way she moves;
and as I meet her transfixed gaze
I know in my heart, I am doomed.

In the midst of sorrow and pain
she waits for closure, but in vain
reaching out for something to ooze
sense of her nocturnal blues.