We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it

Hurt,
is not a feeling,
but rather a process,
it’s wanting to burst out
in laughter when you fall
for the same trap twice,
and shedding tears
when you least expect it,
it’s being able to experience
emotions that you thought you had lost
touch of, sight of,
it’s looking at yourself
in the mirror
and loving the broken
version as much as the healed one.

When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.

When I am a young poet
I love to make my dreams
come true like sunbeams.
I never want to be late.
Love dreams of me, I bet!

I would shine the world
with my lovely poems.
I will make the streams
and just won't be ribald.
Love will come to me, I bet!

Lately my soul screams
for the beautiful nature,
Lives are like ice creams
and all souls will be a vapor!
That will happen, I believe it.

I love you and the creation
Please lemme stay a while!
God, I need your supervision
I bow to you and always will!
I always want to be perfect.

I remember
it was dark

the flame
of a candle

cast a
flickering

shadow

lighting
a path

to our secret

we dare
not breathe

we could
lose our

light or
give away

our secret

Love is not blind,
but he who did not see your worth.

my feet lift
and land

in a slow rhythm

no deadlines
no intentions

I take in the
clean air

feel my lungs
grow

feel the blood
flow

from head to toe

let my mind
float

to the clouds

I see through
the mist

of most days
and live in

this moment