i did not lose, nor did i win this year.
i only made sure that i would make it.
and though i did, i would not be dancing in glee now.
for deep down in my heart,
that is not a win for me at all.
night after night, day after day,
i drowned in tears ,
but every struggle shattered,
changed me.
i am in so much more pain and rage now;
i want the state of oblivion
in my subconscious mind back.
only i would not wish that because
i have finally patched up the wounds
that my messed-up brain has inflicted
onto my torn heart.
therefore 2024,
the very definite definition of winning
is not the same as winning an Oscar or a Nobel Prize
as defined in the dictionary;
it differs when compared to fighting against
all the odds in life and/or for your life.
but, i believe that..
winning can sometimes mean losing
in the context of objectivity
in life’s entirety,
so we could find a solid footing
in the daily, weekly, and monthly moments
of struggles and challenges
that have made us weak and vulnerable this year.
...
as i wrap everything up this year,
all that i have to say is:
life is not a competition or a race;
for if it were, it would be humanity’s
most futile and mirthful one.
-boonthemoonluv

no, i was not a poet then
because i glazed upon my skin
and saw it as paper i could easily cut.

no, i was also not an artist then
because i painted over my scars,
hoping to become a work of art.

yet, i bear the title of a poet
and wear the badge of an artist,
for indeed, i am a poet and an artist,
but far from the spectrum that society
has manipulated and stapled into your head.

therefore, i'm only human-
one that has always been a work of art,
and a luscious garden of poetry at heart.
i am simply a nuclear fusion
of calmness and chaos,
with a spark of uniqueness.

@boonthemoonluv

i pour all that is left of me into poetry
until i become too much for words to bear,
too much for my therapist to endure,
and too damaged for medications to repair.

so, i metamorphose into an artist
to reach for my 6B graphite pencil,
and let my storming rage of agony and anger
crawl across the pages
towards those who promised to keep me safe and sound,
only to leave me trembling in fear on the ground;
towards those who offered reassurance i never asked for,
only to walk out of my life and say that i was just being unreasonable;
and towards those i welcomed into my life,
only to have them slam the door in my face again and again
.
once i have sketched out my fiends,
clawing at the child in me i could not fight for,
all i could do was scream in silence
as i helplessly watched them take her childhood away from her.

i've metamorphosed, not into an artist,
but into someone filled with so much wrath and doubt.

i wonder if i will i ever look at myself in the mirror
without screaming at the sight of the hidden scars
across my face and body.

and i wonder if i will ever taste the kind of love
that is built, not on power as a means of possession, or merely to satisfy oneself, but on compassion, acceptance, and mutual respect.

@boonthemoonluv

i fall back into the pit
of ghoulish flashbacks and nightmares,
and watch the same tragic scenes unfold repeatedly
of the child in me being dragged into the bleak blackness
to be fed upon, then subsequently discarded.
she tried to put up a fight,
but it was all in vain.
i'm such a fool for deceiving myself of their existence,
as they burned me while still conscious.

and this is the very moment
i metamorphose into a poet.
when my mind and heart have been spent,
from being a constant playground
for my fiends in so much glee to play at.

i metamorphose into a poet,
gather all fragments of myself
and become the poetry in my poems.

but you see, sometimes i am not a poet;
barbed wires wrap around my throat,
choking the words that want to break free from my chest.
and i just cannot bring  myself to lift the pen
and unravel myself through lines and verses.
...
around, indeed, these fiends of mine will sulk and lurk around.

@boonthemoonluv

i could write a thousand poems
that whisper nothing but your name
'til the ink runs dry and the paper bleeds with my voice-

"you're an endless poetry, line by line."

life is indeed a journey
and you made mine beautiful
the day you sang your "harana" song for me
it became ours
it was mine, it was yours
it was me, it was you
it was us
...
it was everything we could have been before these bittersweet tears plodded down my cheeks
i never anticipated this journey would ever come to an end
you're the hardest goodbye i've ever had to make
so please let me be your last goodbye because you'll always be a love poem i can't ever rewrite

-boonthemoonluv

captured by these traitorous shadows have i been,
haunting sounds have begun to sow
a fiend of mine must it be thought i
for this crimson stain is from one long i've known

captured by these traitorous shadows have i been,
for so weary these limbs have become
so brittle these bones have become
so lame this soul hath become
so lost this mind hath become

captured by these traitorous shadows have i been,
thy glistening eyes hath begun to glow
as these flowers have halted to grow
and the wind hath halted to blow

and ask i...

hath the blood dried where i fell?
ere mine is this to plow my tears
to be freed from you, mine fiend?

and alas, sensed was i...
for thy cold yet burning arms held me close
it was thou, the moon-
the one and only who doth gaze down below unfaltering to plunge in and drown with me in these puddles of tears
and hold mine hands
to keep the both of us aloft

-boonthemoonluv

Love that burns your tongue like a wildfire but soothes you all the same like a gentle rain.

2. Love that keeps you on your toes and holds you securely in their grasp.

3. Love that turns over for you like the tide and holds your trembling shoulder.

4. Love that finds the strength to wrap you in their warmth.

5. Love that paints your world with your favorite color.

6. Love that will pull you back like the moon when you start to drift away.

7. Love that charts every edge of you and your thoughts in the vow of their mouth.

-boonthemoonluv