my friends and i saw a girl,
confused, we continued watching
as love don’t change was playing,
she was probably your loml,
it was public,
i became your side chick

i thought i made a masterpiece,
but i just ended up hurting my fist,
asking myself his worth,
of the spaces on these pages,
of the ink from my pens,
of the words,
coming from my head

it’s scary how i’m scared
of losing someone i’ve never met
if there’s one thing i do not regret,
it was when you found me,
when i was down and empty.

he made me pray,
for once i believed,
someone could make me stay,
and turn the way i’ve lived
but here i am, writing in dismay
and for the seventh time,
i’m finding words that rhyme
these mixed feelings i could hardly say

i can sense it,
it’s not as clear as when i fell for you
but i know,
i’m familiar with these feelings too
—i think he’s cute, really.

i’m scared of silence
not because it’s deafening
but because i can hear;
the footsteps,
the glasses,
the plates,
and everything else.

you made me a clown
yet i’m giggling now,
my angels witnessed
how my body was shaking
while my attempt was sending
—it was extremely thrilling
and in a millisecond,
you got me screaming,
singing “but daddy i love him”,
i was mad for trying
in the end, i got nothing

you made it worth it
—the time i thought was wasted
i smiled, laughed with you
while i hoped i was your favorite too

you were intrigued,
i was overly interested,
perceived your compliments
as sweet endearments,
you showed me attention
i considered them as affection,
while you were just being nice,
reminded me how it was

every night, i was full of delusions,
and hopeless conclusions
and if i could wish,
don’t walk away, that is
i should be the one to leave
for i came to you first

once i asked,
the question is still unanswered
but maybe you did,
unsure how i’m supposed to take it

a beggar of your time,
an intruder in your heart
when would i ever hear
the sound of a welcoming chime?

you made me scream,
your name was on my screen
i was convinced you dislike me,
the ignorance in my letters lately.

should i say i was being naive,
thinking things you’ve shared
were for me to receive?

respond to me once,
i could gather millions of butterflies,
somehow, it’s tiring,
but i’m addicted to this feeling

you write feelings left unspoken
of those who were in blue.
i actually write too,
but only when i’m broken.
would that be a zero for you?

my strangeness is coming to light again
unknown to my own, conceited yet in vain
i was never blind to my own longings,
i know what or who to disdain—my loathings,
but these days,
i’m a stranger to myself

i love that he is too kind,
and like a double-edged sword,
it kills me in any other way

when he shows it to everyone,
i suffer from jealousy
and when it’s me,
it feels like i’ve won a lottery

now that i think about it,
i’m falling deeper for his kindness,
i’m just afraid everyone would do too

am i guilty as sin?
he didn’t write ‘mine’ on my upper thigh
but building up made us feel so high
only in my mind

am i guilty as sin?
i never touched his skin
but we had little trysts
before the sunrise met our eyes

and if “there’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk”,
can i have these fatal fantasies over and over again,
without being guilty as sin?