1) Somewhere not so deep, serendipity carries serenity.

2) Eyes are just more beautiful fingers, so try to leave goose bumps where others leave bruises.

3) My hobbies are poetry, basketball and convincing people of things I don’t believe.

4) Art is something that cannot be expressed in any other way.

5) Fear God.

6) Sometimes, the answer might be right but the question might be wrong.

7) If you could steal the moon from the night sky, the stars would get more attention.

8) If tears glowed in the dark, pillows would make wonderful night lamps.

9) People may be shades of grey but still have one black shadow.

10) Beauty is not so relevant when drawing with white chalk on concrete.

The first was in the corner of the smile of a fourteen year old girl when I asked her to be my valentine. Apparently you’re meant to ask before the day. I still think about her. Hers forms the basement in my jar of stolen heart pieces.

The second time, it was holding my hand when reality met nightmares. It carried words like “alright” and “fine” as arm candy. And even though I wasn’t alright or fine, a maybe was enough for me.

The third time was when I asked my grandfather if I would see him again. I half expected a “not” after it. He taught me that making choices is easy, but living with them is hard. Although his lessons were more things not to do, than things to do, he’s still one of the best teachers I know.

The fourth time, I met a girl with surrender in her lips but escape in her eyes, she seemed to laugh a lot. I always knew if I pulled back the curtain of her laughter I’d see broken heart fragments realising tears isn’t the best of glues. She left like the ocean leaves the shore, slowly stealing grains of sand, knowing she’ll either come back to return it, or she’ll always have something to remember me by. A maybe for the former was all I had left to hold on to.

The fifth time, I carried it in my hello when I talked to sis, although distance separated us I could feel her tears drop on the shoulder of my voice. I tried to act like I knew what I was saying, but a maybe seemed to end every advice I gave.

The sixth time, the man in the mirror asked if I had feathers for fingers. How I made words seem so fly. They would lift off pages and tickle ear drums till a smile was the only response the body knew to produce.

The last time, I heard it somewhere in her blush, somewhere in her smile, somewhere in her laugh. And I thought, maybe she’s the one. I can’t promise I’ll always feel like this, but a piece of me will always only show goosebumps for just you.

I used to think you knew your soul mate if their chin fit perfectly into the nook in your neck. My first girlfriend was pretty awesome at giving hugs.

But I knew the kind of woman I wanted to marry the day I watched my mother hum her favourite song while doing the dishes.

I knew the kind of man I wanted to be, the day I watched my father slow dance with my mother to her humming.

Would my son ever watch me slow dance with his mother?

Or would I always be writing poems about leopard print skins and french fries hair.

I carry all these things on top of my heart and I fear if it gets broken they’ll all fall through the cracks.

Maybe I have a flawed perception of romance, maybe slow dancing, humming, dishwashers don’t exist. Maybe gorgeous earthquakes aren’t always heart breaking but ground breaking.

I feel like each second is a grain of sand and the waves are washing away my sand castles one after the other. People always tell me I make the truth the hardest to understand, so I guess what I’m trying to say is I feel like time is running out. And with all the so called fish in the sea, these waves never seem to leave any on my shores.

Maybe I’m too blinded, concentrating on fish when there’re great blue whales around, tiger sharks and even electric eels that we’ll always have a spark.

I’ve been living too fast, but there’s no point finishing first if there’s no one waiting at the finish line, I’d rather slow dance to her humming and maybe in essence we would be the ones that won.

I knew the kind of man I wanted to be, the day I watched my father slow dance with my mother to no music in the living room. I know she eagerly anticipates the day her and I slow dance to my wedding song. I hope this is not another failed attempt of me trying to get closer to that day.

Dear Queen,
Are you real? Or just part of my imagination
Cos lately you've given my eyes an occupation
Staring at you is work, and everyone in the room is employed
That sharp dress cut my tongue out and got me speechless
If the dress could cut my head open and read my mind
The only thing it would see is a reflection of itself
Cos all I think about is you, and you may not be real
But you're true
The silence you cause in the room, when you walk in
People stop talking, its akward.
You're on stage, you steal everyone's attention, like a thief
Attention is really cheap, but not everyone pays attention.
Its crazy right? How a queen falls for a pauper
The only way I could ever leave, is if I ...

Stop thinking.

Yours truly
the boy at the back

Dear ripped jeans,

Do you believe in love at first kiss? I do
And I think I feel it for you.
The moment our lips touch and don't wanna let go
That feeling like wet tongue on ice
The silence feels like an empty parking lot
My heart racing the moment I feel your curves.
I hope my heart could drift and prevent smashing
I let the heart smash and break down, to avoid a break up
Then my thoughts for you exploded BOOM! And you literally blew my mind
Then I knew you were one of a kind.
I never knew how to stop
The only brake I ever knew was a break up
All I ever think about is that you're beautiful
Cos I love you, I hope you love me too.

Yours truly,
The boy with the black cap.

Maybe it's my fault.

Maybe when God asked me, I should have said boy.

Maybe I should have said white.

I wonder if that would have made a difference.

Our bellies are beginning to forget what laughter feels like but our eyes would always remember your faces.

You the reasons we chose girl.

You the reasons we chose black.

Are you coming to get us?

Or are you waiting for them to bring us back?

I have this bag, full of the all the things I would do if I ever return home, and forgiving you is one of them.

I heard icebergs only show a tenth on the surface, and that, is one hell of a surface, makes titanic hearts like mine sink too easily.

I’m sure if i searched your eyes I’d find my daydreams, I’m sure between your lips will be a good place to hide my nightmares and kissing you will be the safest thing I have ever done.

Between your leopard print skin and zebra stripped life, lies everything perfect about imperfections.

I understand that a womans thoughts are hard to read, I heard once that they are written in braille. If love is truly blind, then reading your mind should come easy.

If you would let me, I want to be the answer to the questions you were too afraid to ask. I want my heartbeat to be your favourite bedtime story and you would fall asleep on my chest every night.

And if you won’t, then at least let me be a home to your gorgeous, an ocean to your iceberg, I’ve lived long enough to learn that there’s enough space in a friendzone for two.