Intoxicated and drunk over the idea of how we should be,
and what we could have been,
that is how I feel.

I am forever chained to these expectations,
telling me that there should be words and song
exchanged between us
and that I have failed to fulfill anything at all.

The silence has filled up my insides
I am a hollow cave
Regrets echoing in this empty space
Melancholy at its finest
*I despise who I have become

I hesitate to show him the truth.
The words I write may never reach his eyes
I am afraid of the torture after rejection.

These feelings cannot be denied,
my poems will never cease to exist
even if i erased these heavy thoughts I typed
burned them alive
the memories of us will float around endlessly
somewhere, out of my reach.

If he sees himself in mirrors
in a monotone and meaningless way
he will not anymore
because reflections of him
lie not only visually in images,
such as projections on clear glass
but in others who admire him too.

We become who we love eventually
Admiration for someone else
makes us melt
covering past pages of who were before.

Our walls
white against white
decorated with jasmine flowers
that have witnessed everything.

They've seen the french
speaking the language of love
with weapons of destruction in their hands
carrying our nation's sons
six feet under their footsteps
stepping on honor's history forever.

"Ya worood al yasmeen"
with pearly white petals,
and bright green stems
I've watch you grow over our house
year after year
hanging high and low
gazing at the loss below.

I am now far, distant like a stranger
the homeland has put smiles on our faces
that glow in albums of badly taken pictures
that will haunt my path across oceans.

One day, the heart will ask for home
and I shall listen to it
as it yearns for the sweet scent of jasmines.

My grandmother's house once filled with love
now emptied
her biggest fears coming to life
pictures hanging on the wall
ghosts of love so short-lived
but remind me to tell her
that she is not alone
there are flowers like angels watching from above.

Like a greedy vulture, I pecked at my skin
What is there to accept?
Is it the discoloured patches where plump red blush had settled before?
Rosy and full of life, I will mourn for my past self.
Is it the falling strings of hair giving up on embracing my tired neck?
A backbone that has defied its own purpose.

In a world of exchange and sharing
Nature has found a place in me
My soul reconciles with the desire to bloom
But my body is dwelling in its ashy winter days

Between the night and day
Find me halfway deciding where to go,
It will either be aspiring to be the sun
or waiting for the end to die with the moon.

I saw the universe in your eyes
but have you ever cared
to look into mine?
I guess I was a star
randomly existing,
about to fade,
into the sombre abyss
of your forgotten memories.

Similar to thread and needle through smooth silk
I embroider your name into my poetry.

I sold all the innocence I believed in,
to describe the fire I see in the subject of my words.

With all the blood that races in me
I make it stop;
silencing my heartbeat and tongue
to witness the art that you carry in your figure.

Suddenly the poet in me has forgotten how to write.

When a seed germinates,
It needs several conditions to initiate its growth
but a flower is different.
A flower only yearns for rain to cover its drooping petals
and sunlight to embrace it from every corner.
As I grow up,
Material objects become useless.
Only certain people matter,
and being able to hold them tight
would be the best birthday gift ever.

Maybe if bitterness was not my language,
You would've held on to our conversations.
Maybe if bitterness wasn't in my eyes,
You wouldn't have turned to look at her instead.

How can I reply
when my tongue has blisters
from the words left stuck and unsaid?
I can't hurt you
because I know what pain feels like.

Shouting at the sky,
Dear, the clouds will not cry for you.
Earth will continue spinning,
Ignoring the burdens of the hell
you carry around on your shoulders,
in the darkest part of your mind
and under your eyes.

We're candles that want to burn bright
and wouldn't mind dwindling in the flames.

I was a child
who found beauty
in the symphony of words.

Restless,
I tried to join sentences
and stack beautiful vocabulary
in my empty glittered journal
but nothing worked.

Years have passed
and I remember the exact moment
when I realised that what I loved
was called Poetry.

I marvelled at the writing of others
thinking of myself
as a streak of faint ink
on a masterpiece of paint.

To me, I was incapable of being an artist
and painting sheets with my emotions
but in the end,
we all have a fire within our hearts
that we want to put out
and we write endlessly
to tell others its story.

She held onto the cigarette
quivering hands and ****** veins
it lit up and scorched the leaves
infiltrating in her tensed lungs.
It reminded her of him.

Breathing in the grey smoke,
she suffocated from
the air that they weren't sharing.

Hugging the cigarette,
with his shapely lips
she knew that any attempt
of kissing him
would **** her
but yet she longed to die
at his touch.

I hear the cries emanating from your words
Every letter of every sentence is a story
that only your broken heart can tell.

The longing for peace inside
brings chaos within your cracked bones
I hope that honey starts to drip
out of your scars instead of blood.

The thoughts spinning in your mind
now resemble the whorls in outer space
galaxies of decisions to take
follow the path of stars that lie in your heart.

I know how hard it is to open your eyes
face the world
and live behind your insecurities
let your skin jump from excitement
not from fear that causes constriction of yourself.

You haven't failed yourself
when you chose silence over speech
these pens have screamed louder than anything
one day they will hurt those who wounded you
so that the guilt inside
will keep them awake night after night,
I will continue to pray for you.

Soft heart and lips,
skin like pillows
chest a haven for whoever
is privileged enough
to find comfort in it
don't let the harsh days
blister the frame
that holds you, the artwork, together.

Allow these poems to rebuild you
so that you realize that homes out of people
burn faster than gasoline on fire
and that the paradise you crafted
out of your bathroom floor
corners of busy rooms
tears on scratched paper
and wrinkles on your tired forehead
is the one that will revive you forever.

Stay strong.

my soul is still getting used to sensing hesitation in his words
sometimes i wonder why we can't be together
at first i blamed myself
i always blame myself
but  i've come to a conclusion -
it is in fact my fault
it definitely isn't his
that i am a dreamer living in a reality of nightmares
and that the meanings behind my words are often too dense to comprehend
so his lips and mine can no longer speak common sense
our circles forming awkward edges to avoid overlap
like oil and water and we can never become one

The night and I are best friends.
Our darkness coincides
and I find myself confiding in the moon
more than I ever did with anyone else.

Don't define poetry.
I will not allow myself to be placed
within your confines
and narrow mind
for my own has no limits.

I am its queen
cultivating a kingdom of intellectual beauty
planting seeds of wisdom and knowledge
picturing gardens of thoughts and poems.

Don't define poetry.
Useless ramblings to you
May seem like noise
That you'd rather shut out
But my voice matters
And it shall manifest itself
In ways you can't imagine.

It is 3 am
I am hoping that when I sleep
my dreams
will consist of you
and that I'll be present
in yours too.

we are made up of earth
our skin blends in with nature
disaster and beauty in our soulful eyes
finding love in between shifting plates
a newly found humanity
shaking our bones
but in the end
we drift away
existing oceans apart

Exchanging glances
I could hear him clearly despite his silence
Swallowing my pride,
I spoke first.

Raising our eyes to the sky
we discussed the weather and our plans
pretending like the words, "I miss you" didn't exist.

A great year has passed
challenging us on each side of the globe
far away from the other
but sometimes,
I am sure that our thoughts unite.

In our dreams, and in reality
we will continue to
exchange loud glances
without saying the proper words.

My skin wasn't meant to contain all this pain
My chest senses exploding agony
that of a thousand bursting nebulae
stars in my eyes are now spikes
Knees bend and I droop low in disdain
I can only feel myself about to give up
A bomb that ticks not knowing when to stop.

Blades line up ready for battle
My thoughts shooting at them
provoking weapons -
drawing them closer
This is a war I'd like to surrender in
It's useless
Because I am already bleeding on the inside.

Autumn kills the leaves,
slowly and beautifully
but when I fall
it is always in pain.

When the tears,
and my body
collapse to the ground
both in the most melancholic shade of red
my lips promise to never say your name
and my heart attempts to flee its cage
away, very far away
from you.

I've been struggling to write.
My mind cannot quite decipher
what my heart feels.
Not all cracks in the pavement
have cultivated life along their destruction
so please bear with me
as I gather what is necessary
of words, and of love
to fill in the gaps inside.

Long weeks end
but more will follow.
Our muscles seep exhaustion
Hollow faces around me
Empty cups of coffee and tea
embody the struggles of the mind
and the stability of the body.
No matter how sweet the morning air is,
or how many birds chirp good luck
the bitterness prevails
it is obvious
in the dense air
and bloodshot eyes.