happiness is mad at me because i don’t write about her more often
she shows up at 1:28am and hugs me tight like my mom does once in a blue moon
she looks the same as always but my life doesn’t
i would have shoved all my poems adressed to misery into the drawer if i’d known she is visiting
“it’s okay” she said
“i’m used to the stale stench of heartbreak and anxiety lingering in your bedroom”
she’s lying
i know she’s lying and she knows that i know
she takes her usual spot on my bed
“you should think of me more often” she tells me
she concludes that she is after all a state of mind
in turn, i tell her that hanging out with friends and forgiving my mom don’t exactly work
“you just need to think of me more often”
i tell her i do think of her; when the sky is pretty or the food is good
i think of her between the lines of my favorite songs and each strokes of my favorite paintings
not looking convinced, she glances and says
“why don’t you write about me?”

i don’t know the answer

i want to tell her
i see your face amongst picture of my friends and i;
i see you in my daily glass of tea;
i see you all the time and i try to write about you all the time
but i don’t say anything because i already know the answer
she gets up to leave and i ask her to stay
she tells me she’ll try and visit again
“think of me more often, think of me as if i’ve never left
think of me, write about me
but don’t think that you’ll find me and don’t expect me to stay”
  
i want to send this to her
but she hates it when i try to reach her and i don’t know her address
but then again, it’s not like she has a permanent residence

im the one who usually held on tighter instead of letting go
so i water this love knowing very well your thorns are going to make me bleed
and sometimes it was red
sometimes it was poetry
sometimes it was hide and seek with your “i love you”s
but im the one who chose to let go now
and i still bleed occasionally
sometimes it was regret
sometimes it was the way you used to sound over the phone
and sometimes its nothing
and nothing is the worst way to bleed

setanmu itu,

ia masih menghampiriku
duduk di ujung kuku kakiku
bersabda sepanjang malam
agar aku tidak pernah lupa
pada satu pertanyaannya:

mengapa
aku sampai membakar diri
untuk menjual jiwa
pada nyala sepercik
padahal lamanya
tak akan lebih dari sedetik

kenapa, tanyanya,
aku bersikap tak acuh
padahal hati ingin bertaruh
tetapi malah memilih menjauh
dengan terseok-seok pula lumpuh

kenapa,
balik kutanya,
kenapa
kamu masih di sini?

i keep cold when i talk about it. a few months is hardly enough time to keep you under my tongue, let alone let you swallow me whole. but i spent those nights waiting for you on street corners. laughing while you try to make a perfect sunny-side egg for our breakfast. learning to kiss your hard shoulder in the morning.

i try and take back the pieces. but i told you about my mom. i let you meet my dad and make him laugh. i know it’s just the consequence of believing in unspoken promises. but even with all the cold i try to keep, god knows you had a smile that could’ve kept me.

so all day there was no you. it didn't hurt and i didn't miss you and
i didn't want to call.
but it's late now, i guess, and it hurts now, i guess, to remember those nights where i knew it was just us. no one else. remember that?
but that changed when you picked her, that changed when you kissed her, that changed when you started visiting her town
but i bet if i was drowning you wouldn't lend me a hand like
are you glad you got out of the poems?
are you glad that's not really you?
are you glad you're so dedicated to something now?
like a priest and something holy, just like you've always wanted
something to worship that's not yourself.
so it's like i'm happy for you it's just
i'm not.
you're still in my poems. i don't think you ever left.

pukul 02.04
aku terdiam tanpa berbahasa
memikirkan sejuta hal yang seharusnya kulakukan
aku terbiasa bermimpi
namun kini aku tak mampu

pukul 02.11
andai waktu adalah lomba
maka aku selalu kalah
lagi-lagi aku tidak dapat terpejam

pukul 02.19
aku dan semua lamunanku
terhenti sejenak oleh suara dengkuran disebelahku
atau mungkin suara angin sejuk dari mesin diatasku

pukul 02.22
aku ingin berlari ke dalam lautan
menantang ombak berderu kencang
lalu terhempas dan menghilang

pukul 02.30
aku menahan air mata
berusaha mengartikan rasa
pencarian yang tak berujung
katanya tuhan itu mahakuasa
maka aku percaya jawaban itu ada
dan kupejamkan mataku
harap semua ini sirna

tuanku telah meninggal
sudah tak dapat lagi ia ucap
sajak-sajak getir perlawanan atas tuhan
apalagi senandung bintang atas kita

tuanku telah meninggal
sentuhannya dingin
tubuhnya kaku
sajaknya menjadi pisau
dan gurauannya antarkan duka

ia tetap tertawa dalam kematiannya
karena jasadnya dapat terus hidup
sebagai manusia lain
yang bagiku, entah siapa
yang bahkan tak kukenali danurnya

jika bisa
aku ingin mengembalikan tubuh itu padanya
akan kugali kuburan dalam hatinya
kutarik keluar jenazahnya dan kubangkitkan,
dalam sebuah peluk dan angan

akan kubiarkan ia merasuk
pada tubuh tak berhati, tak berjiwa itu
pada tubuh hidup gentayangan itu

and here i am again
standing down the vacant hallways
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out that someone else found you
i’m tired of feeling like something you’ve misplaced
but don’t have the heart to look for anymore
i’m tired of wondering if you can tell the difference
between the absence of my voice and silence
but i learned that you can’t be the ****** weapon and be the search party
so down the vacant hallways
i just stand there in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake on an eviction notice

kapan kamu mau menyadari bahwa bentuk ganda muncul karena rasa takut pada tunggal semata?
menjadi sendiri memang bisa membawa resah, terlebih ketika semua berkata ini sudah waktunya
harga diri bisa membantah, namun di dalam hati takut memang menjadi jawab untuk sebuah tanya
bila sendiri berupa satu kalut yang perlu dihindari, adakah untuk meraih tenang hanya lewat menjadi dua?
tapi kamu lupa; petapa sengaja menyepi demi bertemu tenang, biksu bisa merasa teduh walau tanpa sandingan, mereka yang khusyuk menemukan tentram dalam sujudnya yang panjang
sendiri, walau secara manusiawi
karena bersua dengan damai hanya lewat kata cukup
setelah kata cukup dipungut, menjadi sepasang bukanlah lagi sekedar penawar kalut

“puisi itu hanya enak untuk ditulis, bukan dibaca”

“hah, egois sekali, terus siapa yang mau baca semua puisi yang sudah kamu tulis?”

“bukan begitu, maksudku puisi itu kan ungkapan hati penulisnya, dan ketika kita membaca puisi, kita harus selalu menebak nebak apa arti dan makna sebenar benarnya dari puisi yang kita baca. melelahkan”

“lalu apa bedanya dengan hidup? inti dari hidup juga mencari makna sebenar benarnya kan?”

“memang tidak ada bedanya, sama sama melelahkan”

i.) sink. no, not into water
or into a mattress or even into another person
sink into the spaces between
those memories that ache,
the holes where maybe there is peace
if you are the type that searches 
for that kind of thing, but really
there is only silence
and the real one looking to forget knows
silence is enough, it has to be

ii.) run away from who you were,
from the body that made all the pain
you are trying to forget, run up
the street and up the sky and up up
away from the way a body grounds you,
keeps you trapped in the things 
that want to keep you awake at night

iii.) learn to have no ears because 
yes, we have all heard of memories 
that scream, but what about
the ones that whisper?
it is incessant 
how they taunt in low, raspy voices
all of the mistakes you made
the missteps you took
and there is no way to strangle
a voice that has no mouth, no throat

iv.) just stop. it won't happen
not really 
unless there is enough time
and that is if you are lucky
to have a mind that is not clingy,
a mind that does not hold onto
every memory as though they 
are what keeps it going

entah ekspektasi belaka atau hanya egoku
aku tidak pernah sekedar bertanya
segala tanya atau tidak kutulis itu tulus
karena aku tumbuh dengan menghargai

aku bisa jadi salah
kupu - kupu menggeliat di perutku sempat hilang
namun, di koridor gelap itu
mengapa mereka datang lagi

jika benar
kehidupan sebelumku benar ada
ku yakin perasaanku padamu tetap cinta

jika benar
dunia paralel adalah nyata
ku yakin rasa menggebu itu tetap rindu

katakanlah, aku celaka
tersandung ke dalam lumbung asmara.
celaka kah aku
mengendap-endap di sekitar pintu hati-mu?
katakanlah, aku terkutuk
seorang yang tak diundang
tak semestinya duduk di ruang tamu.
terkutuk kah aku
menaruh asa di atas hampa?

mencintai tanpa memiliki.
klasik, ya, apa boleh buat?
aku tak pernah menganggapmu adalah milikku, pun aku adalah milikmu.
namun rasa itu tumbuh di antara kita, tanpa satu pun yang memaksa.
aku tau kau masih memiliki seseorang dalam daftar prioritasmu, terlebih, mungkin dirinya lah yang nomor satu.
tunggu, bukan berarti aku senang dijadikan yang kesekian; lagi-lagi, apa boleh buat?
aku hanya bisa menunggu sampai sang waktu memberiku lelah yang luar biasa hingga rasa sabarku perlahan habis,
karena ku tau perasaanku takkan pernah.

how do you live with a mother whose idea of love is burning down bridges and then burning the ashes? how do you live in her house, constantly awaiting her next episode, staring at your bedroom door and waiting for her to burst through it? you go days without eating because you’re terrified to get out of your room and you hope that this will help you shrink small enough to fit into your childhood hiding spots - all the places she’d never think to look. you cut your wrists, hips, thighs, any parts of your unloved skin that you can reach in hopes it will slow your breathing down before she hears you panicking - she’s already reminded you once today that there is no room for weakness in her house. you smell burning again and get ready to bid farewell to another bridge, another memory, another part of your relationship that you’ll never see again. you’re not as bothered as you should be because in all honesty, there wasn’t really a relationship or a bridge to begin with.

in another universe:
you don’t leave the city.
my hand is still in yours,
it’s 10:40am,
you can't take your eyes off of me while you eat your brunch.
we never have to worry about making it work,
because it just does,
it always has.
and you hold my hand,
and (this time) you don’t let go.

in another universe:
we never meet.
or maybe we do but maybe this time i don’t say yes to the brunch
i listen to my brain instead of my heart and run at the first sign of trouble.
i’ve always been good at that, right?
i hold my breath instead of your hand,
and i don’t let you kiss me after two glasses of wine.
and something
feels off.
but i don’t know what it is, so it’s alright.
and maybe i miss someone,
but (this time) i don’t know who i’m missing.

in this universe:
i felt the shift ever since you left the city.
i called too much and decided this is what love feels like.
isn’t this what love feels like?
you held my hand when i asked you to
and kissed my neck like you might still want me
and maybe you still wanted me
but it wasn’t enough to make it work.
i would’ve made it work,
if you asked.
i cried on the car while i listened to our songs that aren’t even our songs because i never showed them to you,
but i don’t care
because you’ll never hear them now.
i think about us in the city
and i think about us at our first brunch
and i think about all the times you said:
baby
we can make it
you and me.
and i wonder if maybe
we still could.
but it’s different now because
in this universe you let go and in this universe i wasn’t enough and in this universe i know who i’m missing and he’s exactly 32 minutes away if there’s no traffic.
and maybe in this universe we don’t end up together,
but maybe (this time) we’re not supposed to.

"percayalah kita hanya ujian bagi diri masing-masing. tuhan hanya ingin tahu kita lebih mencintai penciptanya atau ciptaannya"

"hanya ujian?  sekali pun aku tidak pernah melihatmu sebagai ujian"

"... maaf"

you think any of it matters? i laugh in the face of every new day as soon as the moon disappears and the sun tries to take its place. i chew on the skin around my jagged fingernails and try not to scream at everyone that passes me by. because what’s the point of any of it? what’s the point of the violet bruises, the cathedrals, the retching and the gift boxes and the way her eyes light up when she looks at his face? it isn’t going to save me, it’s not going to save you either. my body aches and it’s brimming with repressed screams in every colour and i want to tell everybody that loving me didn’t help me, not even a bit.

i run with demons. i sit at the table with lucifer and he tells me his secrets. we sip cyanide from crystal goblets and ignore the blood dripping from each other’s mouths. it creates rivers beneath our feet. he says that i am his favourite. when he’s feeling daring he takes me to church for the hell of it, just to turn heads. that was when i first met you. you wore your sunday best and i wore mine and when your mother caught you staring she murmured a prayer. you had an ethereal glow about you and i found myself coughing up holy water hours after the encounter had passed. you’re terrifying. angels would tear their own wings out for you. they would **** themselves to walk the earth. you terrify me because up until the moment we met, i was happy with being a monster. i didn’t mind the flames, the anguish, the bullets that cascaded down on me, the rot. but then i got a taste for the figs that grow on your tree and i found that i would be willing to catch an angel and rip out its wings just so i could give them to you. i would build you a cathedral and i’d read your book, learn your hymns, step into the light just so i’d never have to tear my eyes away from yours ever again.

these days i am so full of anguish
he looks at me
it hurts
i walk home in the pouring rain because i am a cliche and want to feel something different
anything at all
these days i take the things that i love the most and tear them apart
i create something entirely unrecognisable
everything is too real
it hurts

i went on a date to forget about you
just to end up telling him about you

i remember that night in flashbacks.
like a movie.
i slowly drowned in a river and my body wasn’t found until the sun hit my shining smile where people miles away could see it,
because even though you killed me i was happy it was you.
if i got to die it was privilege that you were the one who did it.
you made it quick
you held your breath in and you spoke about the future and how much you loved the color grey but never about how much you liked me,
and you breathed it out like it was the only sentence you knew
“i don’t, and i don't think i can feel the same about you.”
and i flatlined in your bedroom.

cara tuhan menguji ciptaannya memang ada saja
harta
takhta
kuasa
dan aku; kamu

i’m so tired, tired of all this escaping. it reminds me of that part in all the horror movies, the ones where the characters are running for their lives; they aren’t entirely sure what it is they’re running from, they just know that it will be the death of them. i have this pit in my stomach and my brain is on fire and i cannot - for the life of me - figure out why. i don’t know what’s chasing me, i just know that i better not let it catch up. i’ve been sprinting, trying so hard to be holy, that i didn’t notice i don’t actually want to die. but I’m afraid that’s what it means to be holy. I’m going to stop running.

i’ve been thinking about how thin i can get
so then maybe you’ll take me with you
if i take up less space maybe you’ll find room for me in your life
if i close my mouth more and the room doesn’t fill with words we don’t mean
i won’t be able to hold you accountable for feelings you never had to begin with
maybe if i can squeeze into a double small you’ll find somewhere for me in your arms
you’ll find a place for me to drown in your thoughts
and you’ll think “wow she doesn’t take up much room at all”
maybe if my physical self wouldn’t drown on a sentence of "i’m sorry"
you’d find a place for me to go with you;
a place for me in you
and maybe just maybe there’d be a home for me
and maybe just ******* maybe i’d be enough
i’d have to stop searching for love where it doesn’t exist and you’d see that i only do the things i do
because more than anything i want you to love me too
more than anything i want you
i keep looking for something and i think i’m dying because this can’t be living
should i keep searching for some kind of meaning?

this is dedicated to my new love. not you, because no i did not love you. i loved how you made me feel with my clothes off and i loved how you understand my twisted mind and i loved how you could turn a bedroom into a home. even if home was miles away and we were staying in a rented room and the room next to us just can't stay shut and you had brought so many other girls here that i could grab perfume from the air and place it on myself and compare myself to them without ever taking my eyes off of you. you never knew my favorite color and it’s blue when i know yours is every shade of green. you never knew that i hate my house or that i couldn't eat and lose so much weight while you ignored my calls. so i dedicate this to my love, my new love, because they’ll never forget my birthday and i’ll drown in them like the ocean. i hang you out to dry, i leave you on the side of the road, old love, because for many months i wasn’t even a destination for you i was just a cheap hotel for feelings.

he doesn’t want you back
no not at all: but you are insisting
and at some point insisting is what you have left from him.
insisting is what he is considered to be. insisting is the newest shape of him.
insisting.
i know you grew older, laying in bed at 1 am thinking of calling him once again but then it hit you that he might take it lame
and i understand he was never really yours and i don’t think he ever cared
but when you’re young in love with an older boy and your heart gets shattered;
well you are too late to realize you’re the one who’s left picking up the pieces he broke you into.

i’m stop signs. quick, 1, 2, 3, go. i’m the rest stop when you’re almost to your destination, stop here find what you’re really looking for and realize it isn’t and won’t ever be me. i’m yellow lights that people run through and the fast lane on highways. i’m the person people look at and say i’ll take what they’ll give me and give nothing in return. i’m never the final stop. i’m the person who writes their number down for you and then you lose the paper in your least liked pair of pants but you don’t mind because they were never your favorite anyways. i am never the favorite anyways. i think about how i could make myself more likeable, turn myself from a hotel stop or train station into a skyscraper with a hard base and concrete flooring but then i remember no one would stay even if i begged them to. no one would stay even if i could force them to. and that's why i stopped begging and forcing and clawing. i am never the one people remember or the one people want. i’m forever meant to be the stepping stone for people to realize what they really want out of life. and it’s never me.

i don't want magic if it's tragic
but here's another metaphor for you
i am the little match girl
and you are my every delusion
i don't like the story
but i like the way you sound over the phone
and i like to remember you in the dark
without the light to highlight the pain
just playlist full of sad songs all over again
cliche
but i want to write about our conversation
about the way you laughed
about when we stayed
before the fire unlit, before the final match burnt
remember all the things you said to me?
i stop searching where they went long time ago
because they're just reminder of how mundane you turn things into
i ran out of matches and i don't know what to do

his hand on my hips
my fingers stroking his hair
i dare you not to call that poetry

bagaimana kau masih bisa percaya
waktu itu berjalan maju
jika engkau dapat dengan mudah mematahkan detik-detiknya
dan kenangan adalah salah satu kemunduran
yang kita percayai sebagai sebuah kemajuan?

hey
let's catch up
on things
on life
on our feelings

you shouldn't have asked me how i felt
or i shouldn't have lied and said "this isn't the right time"
i know i shouldn't
and now i'm thinking about it
about how i'm pushing everyone out of my life
because you broke my heart into a hundred pieces
and it took me decade to fix every slab into the other
i shouldn't have made you leave
i know i shouldn't
i heard things about bad endings
and to me it always looked like you leaving

you make my heart race
and you make my heart stop
but you drop it like a bad habit
and i'm the one who is addicted

i knew rejection,
not from a boy
but from my family
from the people on television
from dresses that refused to sit calmly on my body
i knew loss, not from death
but from my friend who drifted away
from the collars i had to pull up
and the skirts i had to tug down,
from the hunched shoulders and buttoned coats
to hide the body people don’t want to see

i wish you knew how to stay
and i wish i knew how to ask

i write about leaving and forgetting and finally breathing at least;
but go ahead and call my poetry a liar
they were just hopeless attempt to dug you out of my skin anyway
skip several months later and now it’s been a year and we don’t even say hi
now i missed your birthday by weeks
and i wish i could turn back the time but i couldn’t
last year i was so unsure but at least i was so in love with you
i wish i could go back to those months when i thought you loved me too but i couldn’t
but i couldn’t

how do i say "i miss you"
in a way that will make your heart ache
as much as mine does

i look at myself from distance and
i look like a stranger.
i am nothing like
i imagine myself to be.
i am not special.
i hurt people

so when i tell you my tarot deck
keeps screaming LACK OF CLOSURE,
i don't mean it as a metaphor.
i mean that i might hide inside my poems,
but you always knew where to find me.

this one is for you
this is my apology
it's not a haiku

it's not that i meant to break your heart
it's just that some days i wake up and i can't feel anything
towards anything nor anyone
and i promise that hurts me too

unless you can write a story about someone from omniscient point of view, without skewed romanticism and self-centered mystification, you don't know the person. love is never a first person narrative. you can't just say you don't remember. no, i won't let you have that postmodern indulgence, you can't be unreliable narrator.

but what are you then? the almighty author? god? those boys been long dead and gone, and i just don't know anymore where i stand, or where you stood. do you think about me ever? do you sometimes write about me? am i perfect in your memory? do you remember the smell of my perfume? will you be able to write about me, trying to pick the right shade of lipstick to wear?

i found heaven;
between the pauses of his drunk voice at 1 AM
and when his finger travel down my spine
i found hell in the morning;
he’s only ever mine when his other girls are asleep
i found hell in his wandering eyes in other girls’ lips, neck, eyes
i found hell in boundaries,
i found hell in convincing myself he never love me.

i found heaven in loving him
i found hell in having to leave first

i woke up missing you today
i know i shouldn't
loving you is much like addiction i'm trying to quit
but always fail miserably

i know,
i know,
lets just stay here
if we keep playing with matches
there's a good chance
we'll turn to ashes

dua jiwa, berdiri di tepi bukit
kehidupan tidak pernah menyatukan mereka
bukan, bukan masalah cinta
hanya kenangan itu egois,
kenangan tidak mau hilang ingatan

i've been taught that love is beautiful and kind
but it isn't like that at all
it is beautiful,
but it is a terrible beauty,
a ruthless one,
and you fall-
y o u   f a l l
and the thing is: you want to
you don't care what's coming next
you just want who your heart beats for

tell me about the night
you wanted to burn the dictionary
when you couldn't find a word
that fit what it felt like the day he left