under my wounded pride, i always say you never had me.

that you were just one of my fantasies granted, like how cinderella met her prince.

i know these are feelings never to share with you anymore.

that at least for once, I’ve kept something of me you didn’t know and realizing it, is my crowning glory.

The real enemy is myself… i easily completely reveal all of me, limitless and never ending.

as i slowly unfold myself unto you.. you started drifting apart. i feel it and i’ve never been so afraid in my life.

i tried to ignore what i was feeling…drowned in the thoughts that you could do more.

that you are someone unlike them. someone who will knock me down yet will pick me up after.

day after day, you witness how i messed up. how weak i was and how i couldn’t stand for myself. how i could no longer handle the situation and i cling unto you for strength. you began to tremble too… lost for words and started doubting if it was all we will ever be.

like a snow in winter, you become cold, and i burnt. yes, not all that burns is hot. i look into your eyes, i see a ******* fire. i thought she was flaming with undying endearment for me.

yet I remember, your eyes are mirrors and i am looking at my own reflection.

with careful planned moves, your gear shifted. instead of going forward, you reversed back. you look past of the girl you once adored.

all you see is a woman so torn that you decide you would love her no more. then you ended it all without a warning.

i hated you…i hated you that instead of blaming the situation, you blamed me. that instead of facing it on, you exited the easy way out.  

you utter words that cut me into pieces, cause wounds that only “longevity” could heal.

listen, i carry the invisible scars that will forever bleed.

It's time.
the prologue has been set,
the characters introduced,
the inner conflict clear
and the goals established.
and now it is time.
This plot cannot progress
unless you turn that page
start the next chapter
and watch your hero,
one foot in front of the other,
bravely go
to a world unknown
and face trials untold.
You cannot read the end of the book
you cannot get your answers
unless you read the hero's hardships
and triumphs
and all the times of love and loss.
A book without an antagonist
without plot twists
and tears
and complications
and thoughtfulness
is hardly a book worth reading.
there are necessary
unavoidable
plot elements needed
to craft a story for the ages.
the first draft may be a rocky road
and you'll be overburderned with tools and guides needed to write
but soon
all you will need is your bare hands
a paper
and pen
(for you cannot erase the kinds of things written in this story)
and determination.
And on your story will go.
On your hero will walk.

Soft  yellow sunrise
my first morning waking up
looking into your eyes

Lying still in the moment
to soak it all in
a calm beating heart & an unscathed grin

Wrinkled sheets and messy hair
sipping fresh coffee
in a chipped-paint chair

A new beginning & the feeling of home
making sense of the past
and my journey alone

It lead me to your smile, which lead me to your kiss
and being wrapped in your angel wings
in a night of heavenly bliss

This morning I found my purpose
and I hope to see 1000 more
soft yellow sunrises streaming in behind your door

Oh My Darling
My life, my love
You are all that I am
Everything that I can be
Without you
I am naught
At times we are at odds
Though my love remains
I long for you,
When you seem distant
I am wholly lost
Left to fester in my head
With you at my side
I am whole
I have sacrificed my sanity for my emotions
To feed my dearest love

"I'm fine," she says with a halfhearted grin.
"I'm fine," she says again, waving away a helpful hand.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, several minutes later.
"I'm fine," she whispers, wiping her face.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says moments after the cry leaves her lips.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, sinking to the floor.
"I'm fine," she tells herself, shaking in a ball.
"I'm fine," she repeats, picking up the razorblade.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says to her concerned family.
"I'm fine," she insists as those who love her worry.
"I'm fine," she says to anyone who listens.
"I'm fine," she lies as she slices her wrists.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she cries, sobbing on the bathroom floor.
"I'm fine," she wails, but only in a whisper.
"I'm fine," she mutters, watching the blood leave her wrist.
"I'm fine," she practices, stepping from the room.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she assures the world outside.