When I say I like to talk about personal things, I don't mean ***.
I don't want to talk about what you'd do to me.
Or what you think it would feel like to have my hands all over you.
No.
I want to talk about the stars, space, if it scares you that we're merely a speck of nothingness in a sea of emptiness.
I want to know what scares you, and why.
The things you hate, or what you want to do with your life.
I want to hear about the places you love, and the ones you have loved without ever seeing.
I want to hear those things, not what you want to do to me in bed.

Upon your body
were the littlest
of imperfections
that caused you
to miss the
beauty
and the art
they had created

Scars
Discoloration
Lack of pigment

Combined
they have made
perfection itself

i once met a stranger,
he who cause my laughter,
he who makes me flatter,
and i who became his admirer.

what is this something?
this love for him i am feeling,
i know this feeling is worth denying,
but why am i still embracing?

do we fit each other? nope,
but then i found myself still holding the rope.
i told myself to stop holding on and let go,
but instead, i didn't follow it. no.

i once met a stranger,
he who became my lover.
but everything stays temporarily,
i need to accept that we aren't meant to be.

the stranger,
who became my partner,
that turned to be my lover,
was again a stranger.

I sometimes wield the pen in spite
Of why I am convinced I write
The poetic words that I spill

Spill like a glass of water
That’s been stirred to overflow
By my feelings and thoughts or so
I have gotten to know
The will of the flow
The direction that it wants to go
That’s what po-
etry is all about, no?

Because poem starts
with a P for personal
Not popular
Or populous
Not for the people who prefer prying
Pickpocketing or playful plying
In the placid plains inside
It’s for the persons who pray
To the poet’s plight

To go out on an odyssey,
with an O, the second letter
Not omniscient
Or omnipotent
For oscillating with your own
Is only for ones once overthrown
By an onslaught of hydrogen per-oxide
Those ostracized and odd
Off, yet open to the outside

E is the third letter
And it stands for emotional
Or extorted
until emptiness
Extended
after the excavation had ended
and emotion was evacuated ere
The embodiment of ecstasy
Had been enterred here

Lastly M stands for me!
Me, myself and I!
Not the masses who maim
My mind and meticulously aim
For the mark on my midbrain
Just the men and wo-men who make do
With musing about the mechanisms of
Mother Earth and her miracles too

Poetry is a gift
Out with it to be at ease
Especially for yourself
May it help you find peace