My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they call you names and harass your crown on the street
When they tell you what you should or shouldn’t do with your body

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they pluck your honey against your will yet they tell them you enjoy it
When they touch your skin yet they left it bleeding and bruised

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they want you to cover your scars and pimples because they don’t meet the “beauty” standards
When they forcibly ask you to shave your hair because it doesn’t potray cleanliness and hygiene

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When your rose is blooming and the moon is come but they show you their cold shoulders
When they make fun of your shape and laugh it off but they refuse to make a clean breast of it as an insult

Thus rise, dear sister
—for your pain is mine to carry
—for your wound is mine to mend
—for your war is mine to fight

My mother never gave birth to a girl
Neither did her and my father ever raise a daughter
Yet, they raised a wolf—wild, fearless, strong, and resilient

They told me to howl at everything I found misfit;
to bark as a warning sign,
to riot as an act of resistance

The dust is so lucky,
It gets to touch your sun-kissed skin and
caress your crimson hair that carries Summer memories

The sun is so lucky,
It gets to feel the warmth of your smile every morning
when you read your newspaper like it’s your breakfast

The moon is so lucky,
It gets to have your company every night when you dance to Frank Sinatra and having a glass full of bad wine

The stars are so lucky,
They get to feel your heartbeat echoes
while you were dreaming of some far away places

The galaxy is so lucky,
It gets to see its reflection through your eyes;
so crystal clear that it confuse the constellation

The whole universe is lucky
—but me

Pada akhirnya, yang mengerti
adalah bayangan dan diri sendiri
Sementara orang lain mati,
pergi tanpa sempat kembali

Pada akhirnya, yang berkeras hati
adalah jantung yang menolak berhenti
Sementara kaki mulai lelah berlari,
meraung ingin menyudahi

Pada akhirnya, yang abadi
adalah sunyi dan sepi
Sementara mimpi-mimpi,
hilang tergerus tanpa arti

Come closer,

What do you see?

Look deeper,
There's more of her than what meets the eye
She might spell queen on her tongue
She might blind people with her glance
But don't believe anything you see

Explore further,
There's more to her soul than the physical shape
She might wear fire on her skin
She might imply strong on her wrist
But don't believe anything you touch

I think those who are in love on this era is cursed,
not that their love is delusional nor artificial
But because their manisfestation of love is perceived
by how society visualizes and defines it

We think someone genuinely love us because
they upload hundreds of photos of us
We think someone sincerely love us because
they write essay competition-worthy captions
We think someone truly love us because
they praise us at all of our selfie posts

To me, love is listening to a music
and suddenly it reminds you of them
To me, love is reading a good book
and suddenly wants them to read it as well
To me, love is when winter comes and all you ever think is whether they wear their warm clothes
To me, love is when the night comes and all you think of is how his day was

Well, then again, Chbosky once said that
"we accept the love we think we deserve"
And maybe we don't get to choose the way we love
or the way we want to be loved
Simply because we think it's the kind of love
that deserves us