After we have been hurt once,
we are extra careful
with who we let in to our hearts
and who we build walls around.

Our hearts get confused,
our heads get muddled.

Our thoughts are filled,
our feelings a little tired.

Sometimes we don't want to fall in love
but we are dying to fill
that abyss in our hearts
that have been dug in our past.

So we f

    a
  
          l

               l

anyway.

We fall in love
with the quiet boy
and hope he is not too noisy.

We fall in love
with the poet
and hope he doesn't
write us in stanzas.

We fall in love
with the reader
and hope he doesn't
bend our spine.

We fall in love
with the ****
and hope he doesn't
play us too far.

We fall in love
with the computer geek
and hope he doesn't
decode us to one and zeros.

We fall in love
with our best friend
and hope that we love him
for more than he is.

But no matter what
we are still hooked to you,
the one boy
who broke our heart.

lately i'm feeling restlessness,
pain, being mere suicidal
and pure emptiness
all at the same time

i'm still wondering how
that is possible and
my only reason is you

restlessness is for the times
i looked at your lips
and wanted to kiss you but can't
because you don't feel the same way anymore.

pain is for the knife
jabbing in my heart
every time i see you with her
instead of me

mere suicidal is for the fact
that i know you can leave me
and you deserve much better
(without me, it'd be easier)

and pure emptiness is for how
i've been hurt by you
way too many times that
i can't feel any of these anymore.

Some people think
that they need love
to survive and yes
the comfort is
essential but most
times, you also
need to learn
to be okay
with being alone.

I swear he's not that difficult
but he complains that
I never make things for him

that I stopped caring
that I stopped loving

in the form of
cards
birthday breakfasts
good mornings

but when I gave him
a present for Christmas
the first word he said was

'throw it away'

I never got a thank you
or even a hug.

He was always there for me
when I was sad
he would pick me up
and cheer me up.

He was always beside me,
when I turned my right
he was there, when I
turned left, he was there.

He knew what I wanted
to say before I said it.
He knew me like the
back of his hand.

He was mine to own.
His name was poetry.

They always say that
they feel numb after a heartbreak
that the pain doesn't really
reach their hearts

and I try, I tried to not let it get to me
but I couldn't

I remember lying on my bed
in the middle of the night
trying to let sleep take me as my
emotions flooded over me

and i try, i tried to not let it get to me
but i couldn't

the pain was so raw in my heart
easily separating all the happiness
from my poor fragile limbs

and i try, i tried to not let it get to me
but i couldn't

i don't remember me feeling numb
as i got over him breaking my heart

i only feel numb now,
because i no longer have feelings for him
ever since
i laid eyes on
you.

Today, I walked up the stairs slowly
and I was entirely grateful.

Today, you were walking past me
and you caught my eye.

Today, your eyes landed on mine
and my heart stopped.

Today, you smiled at me
and the world stopped spinning.

Today, I realised I was falling for you
and it would be worth it.

Today, tomorrow
and yesterday I'd be grateful I met you.

My heart trembles as I walk to you.
It's over, I thought, for sure this time.
'I can't do this.' You tell me.
'Just do it.' I reply frustrated.
I looked deep into your eyes and all I saw was pity and confusement.
You took a breath.
'Break?' You ask.
Why didn't you say up?
Why just break?
I look at you, tears filling up my eyes. 'Bye.' I said as I hugged you one last time, inhaling your scent.
I walk away, biting my lips, rushing to the toilet hoping a tear doesn't fall before I reach.

I stood at my locker later that day.
You came and stood behind me.
You placed a hand on my waist.
I really wanted to use all my might to ask you to let go but it felt like home and I really missed your touch (it has been a long time)
I looked at your eyes, and I could see pity.
I couldn't look too far into them without crying.
'I'm sorry.' You said with a frown.
If you are breaking up with me for another girl, at least be happy about it. 'I'm sorry.' You said again.
'No. Don't say sorry. Don't say anything. Just say hi,' I replied
'Smile.' I continued.
You forced a smile and that was all I needed to convince myself that you were happier without me.

(I saw you with another girl after school and I guess you were happier after all)

I believe in magic.
Not the kind of magic
that makes people disappear
or pulls out a bunny from a
non existence hat.
I believe in the
kind of magic that
sweeps you off your feet,
the kind that makes
spark appear when fingers interlock,
the kind of magic that
makes your heart beat
so fast
when you don't want it
to beat
at all.

I was nine when I was in the kitchen and my mother told me off for playing with food.

I was ten when I was on my bed, sick, and my brother told me he’d always be there for me.

I was eleven when I was in the playground and my father put a plaster on my knee.

I was twelve when I was in my friend’s house and we promise we’d be friends forever.

I was thirteen when I was in school and my teacher told me that I was the brightest student in class.

I was fourteen when I was on the floor and I told my friends I wanted to escape when I played truth or dare.

I was fifteen when I was on the field and I scored a goal that led to victory. It made me feel I had control.

I was sixteen when I was in the rain and my first love gave me my first kiss. I saw sparks ignite for the first time.

I was seventeen when I was at a party and I got drunk. I muttered feelings I didn’t know I was capable of expressing.

I was eighteen when I was in my room and I slit my wrist, hoping for death to find me.

I was nineteen when I was in my toilet, found dead with a bottle of pills in my hand.

I can't
write about you
because
you haven't
hurt me yet.

I don't understand why
it shouldn't even hurt anymore.

Why is it that healed scars hurt
even when you scrawl at them?

Why do you open something
when you know its going to hurt?

Do we want to feel the pain?

As a child, I was always warned
never to love a boy
who breathed in smoke
because he would love
his cigarettes more than
he'd ever love me

and ever since
i've been afraid

but when I met you
fear didn't consume me,
the exhilaration of loving you did.

It was all I wanted.
It was all I did.

Until I made you choose
between your cigarettes and me.

My eyes are weary
and my soul is barely functioning
yet all I can think about is
you

and I think it says a lot about
me
and I how I feel for you.