You are lucky,* because you have your parents with you,
some kid out there are longing for their parent's hug, kiss, comfort
which unfortunately they can't have

You are lucky, because you are surrounded by good friends around you,
Have you ever experienced having no one beside you?
having fake people around you,
who claims themselves as the true one but their only purpose is to put you down?

You are lucky, because you can move and see things freely,
How about the people who are uncapable of doing that?
blind* people who can't see the beauty that God has given us,
deaf people who can't express their feelings and so on

You are lucky, because you are given a chance to learn everything,
Poverty hits us, the main thing that is affected is education
Many people wants to learn and you are lucky that you've been given a chance to be one of them

Do you ever think how lucky you are?
But why are we not contented?
Instead of being thankful,
Why do people always crave for something more?

*"Craving is suffering."

a lot of people ask who I write for

and mainly it’s really for my girlfriend

I’ve always said that she’s the kind of girl

that makes you write poetry.

it’s to express the endless love

the irretrievable gratitude

and the unconditional happiness I feel.

but it’s also for the broken ones

who desperately want to believe in hope

who have Pandora’s box

wrenched from their hands.

for the crying ones

who need solidarity and a warm cup of tea

overwhelmed and wrapped in a blanket.

it’s also for the 9-to-5’s

who drink when they come home

for those who are simply fed up

and want an escape from it all.

I write to help heal.

for the people out there

who just need to know someone understands.

I write because it’s 4am and

I’m listening to Keaton Henson

and these raw feelings

won’t leave my brain

and won’t let me sleep

so really,

I write

to save myself.

it's not often that once is Only
and that last is really the End.

forever is only a little
and goodbye is "in theory."

starts and stops are just in the heart.

memories are in the mind.

and the choice is in my hands.

I have no remorse,
but if I did,
it would be
the kind
felt between
the tectonic plates.
For I have no control
over shifts
in the great creation,
this place
we call home.

I am resurrected, hanging, pinned
On the ground you are kneeling, tugging at my shins
I bleed onto your fingertips, seeping, brimmed
You cannot take more of me,
I've given and I've sinned

I will not relent,
each day that I burn

You reach through me, clasp, pull my body in
I am resurrected, hanging, kneeling at your shins
I am yours, clasped, ****** and pinned