i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

to be desired but never valued or loved all the way through.
chronicles of a girl who's never number one but always number two.
half loved by those she puts above everything.
always left on the sideline for the more favorable option.
she's been through it all and still fights to love everyone the same.
she sees through everyone's flaws and faults but they can never seem to do the same for her.
perhaps it's the quality of people she been loving on.
people that, in fact, don't love her but they love how she loves them.
people that can only handle the idea of her but not the reality..
she's a paradox.
she's gentle yet tough.
she is chaos yet she is peace.
she'll set you crazy but she'll also keep you sane.
she's fire and ice.
an angel with demons.
night and day.
she is me and I am her.
everything, nothing, all at once & not at all.