I started living at sixteen
and I think he met happiness at nineteen .
He came and he saved me
I was never ready

He introduced me to life
and brought back the light.
We spent our days clamped onto each other
Our hearts kissed,we were always together

And then... Distance came
and our souls were once again tamed
Distance decided to give us a hug
None of us realized that Mr distance was a ****

What is death?
Is he really a myth?
Is he really strong,
or am I just wrong?

Death is pulling your lover out because you have to part .
Death is the word "goodbye".
Some people say that death is art ,
but they've never fell in love with the sky

Life is seeing your lover after ninety days
Life is running into his arms and thanking God for him
Life is falling asleep in his arms
Life is looking into Kevin's eyes with a smile

I am a woman.
I breath life into everything I touch.  
I am love and hope.
My body carries stories of heartache , pleasure and sweet nights with him.

I am happiness.
I am power.
I am the deep , blue ocean.
I am a woman.

Your heart is my ocean.
I want to dive in and drown in you.
Your love is by protection ,
precious, irrevocable, so true.
You are the missing chord to my melody,
the happiness in my tears,
the drug I can never leave,
the one who knows all my fears.
You are my strength , my determination
my sullen confidence
my deepest satisfaction
my happiness.
You are my love,
the gift from above.

Dear Neo ..
I'm writing this to you, hoping you will still be here tomorrow.
I'm hoping that you will be released from all the sorrow.

I know that you cry every night.
I know that it seems like you will never see the light.
I know the last thing you want to do is fight,
but hold on tight, because everything will be alright.

I pray that one day you'll be able to " kiss the sky " ,
dry the tears in your eyes
and look back to all the times
where you were begging to die,
when pain made you dry,
and no matter how much you tried,
you never saw yourself fly.
You never saw yourself smile.

I know you will win this battle.
I know you'll be able to run around care free.
I know you will smile, because I don't know anyone as strong as you are.
Dear Neo..
I don't believe in anything like I believe in you.

A single word.
Short and sweet like the events that proceed the emotion
An emotion.
Invisible to all eyes
Except the one it is home to
Eyes that are as blue as the ocean
And yet as captivating.
They have to be mysterious, dark, deep and
Elusive.
Eyes the window into one's heart.
Not mine though.
My eyes lie
Deep enough to drown
To drown the emotion in
Dark enough to hide the tears that rain down
To wash away the pain
They are too blind to see the tears hidden in my dark brown eyes.
These are tears caused by pain.

Sanity
I don't even know
what that means anymore.
I don't even know
anything anymore.
I know for sure
its something i don't have.
Surely a sane person
does not shake
does not want to cry all the time
is perfectly capable of thinking straight
does not have
voices screaming at them
yelling to do things
i didn't think i wanted to do.
But if I'm hearing this
then maybe i want to go through with this
maybe i should
sanity
doesn't exist in me.

Time and again we all get hurt and the truth is it takes long to heal. So yes, the world is full of people who are secretly nursing the wounds that were inflicted upon them. Some of these wounds they got from friends, some from strangers some from family and other wounds, believe it or not, are self-imposed.

We are often quick to get angry and we do not even think twice before we point fingers and blame others for the wounds they caused but what about the wounds we inflicted ourselves with? What do we then do upon the realisation of self-created hurt and pain we orchestrated ourselves?

There are times when one absent-mindedly digs themself a hole to fall in, sets themself a trap to be caught in or lays a bed of thorns to lay on. Reality only sinks in when the pain is felt and the pain one feels from what they did is way less compared to the hurt they get upon the realisation of the fact that they are the reason for that pain.

People hurt us, life goes on, we learn to get over it but what about when you hurt yourself???
The answer is quite simple: Forgive yourself but the implementation of the answer is a different story altogether.

Where I go to escape.

When I begin to feel my body broken to the core and my mind shattered into pieces, this paper serves as my bandage and the words serve as my scars.
Words are my escape. I could write till the world ends. I write poetry when the mood strikes and the words just flow and I, unable to control the way my fingers move loosely stuck in a beautiful trance. Whenever I feel I need to get the feelings out, my writings and rumblings are how I escape reality. The words are the little sparkling stars that people think I would not have the courage to express.

My pink journal, filled with words and phrases help me to escape the violence that is life and it becomes a sanctuary where life's troubles and woes slowly drift away. Where I go to escape begins in my bedroom.

In my "haven" there are no rules , I simply say what I want, whenever I feel. My canvas becomes my paper and each word a small fragment contributing to the final image. It has the potential to create beautiful things out of scrap pieces I call my emotions. My ideas pour out on me with the intensity of water flowing through a newly broken dam.

The place where no rhyming, metaphors, or similes are needed. Just thinking, breathing, living and most importantly, the words.

My escape becomes a lens as It is a way to see the world from a slightly different perspective. My escape is part of an expression . When my family and friends turn their backs on me, poetry says: " take a pen and paper and write how you feel." Poetry is my therapist.

Poetry, for me, is all my thoughts. My heart belongs to poetry. It is my confidante, my best friend and the one thing I can turn to when everyone is sick of me. I tell poetry everything; and poetry tells me nothing. I am dependent on poetry.

My escape on pen and paper, emotions poured onto a page because poetry says:  " what you feel is what you write, it helps to let it out." It is a perfect outlet for those who don't scream or like shout but rather engage in their silent cries.