Cast aside the brush and let me take your palms
We’ll place sadness and loneliness at the horizon
As we watch from the shores where the waves are calm
And take the ink to the canvas to extend our peace
With our symbolic love; so that the horizons
Become our serene paradise, to match our hearts
With our eyes. Our hearts will walk together
Beyond the horizon, further than our vision could ever
Take us.

Blobs of despair
Tarnishing over beauty
On a torn up canvas
That slowly wastes away
With every bush stroke.

Every new layer of ink
will slowly disappear
through time and
what is left in the end
is a canvas with
a thousand different
colours, each
completely
indistinguishable.

Watercolor ink running,
rummaging through
the canvas. Slowly
becoming smeared
over what purity
was left of the canvas.

Life is much like painting
With every brush stroke
With every color
With every indentation
The canvas will no doubt
vanish.

If I could build the world,
It'll have a paper zoo,
Full of paper animals,
It'll have a paper plane,
A paper town and paper train.

I'll create a little paper giraffe,
Because I know it'll make you laugh.
I'll draw it's spots like paper graphs,
And I'll make it walk on paper paths.
If we went to court I'd let you follow my paper trail.

Doesn't matter how much paper I spend,
I'll always have some paper to lend,
Some of the paper are hard and some bend,
When I text I'll hit a paper send...

But it doesn't matter,
Because you'd light all the paper,
Fall into arson and shatter,
My paper world.

No matter how much I can create or give,
You'll never let any one of my dreams live.

Do I judge what my eyes can give me in a minute
Or take to heart the tenderness of your embrace?
They speak judgement between right and wrong
though they find in themselves, the lonely song.
I can't tell you, depth nor length my love may reach
But I can tell you that it settles between the folds,
the creases, the unseen pieces of my heart.
The birds flutter in codes, the clouds hold cameras
but I've seen what it is about yourself I can't deny-
you are not pretty, pretty is too simple a word;
you are beautiful and though the cloud may rain
you are the rainbow captured at the end of it all,
that merely says "smile for the cameras because-
this world, it's a dangerous place but together
we'll light this life up like we're main characters
on a stage".

I don't know what it was at first-
that caught my attention.
It wasn't that you laughed at
my jokes and made me smile,
it wasn't the clear blue skies
you had for eyes, it wasn't
anything physical...
I think after a while,
I started to know;
what it was that
kept me magnetised to you,
always coming back
and even after every fight
I'd still come running back
apologising because
I would rather lose a fight
than ever lose you.
I knew what it was
that kept me falling back
towards your direction,
it was in the fact
that we shared the same
eyes, the same smile,
the kind that hid things,
and the fact that you
could find it in yourself
to care about me.
I knew it that you had
a loving soul because
as you were created
you're ever going to be
extraordinary to me.
Just the right amount
of extraordinary that
made you beautiful.
Just like the way
sometimes some stars
would align, enough
to form a constellation.
You are a constellation,
so distant...
yet so elegant.

So please give me a sign,
let me know if
I'm koalafied to be your numpty.

14 was the year of my first crush,
It was so brand new , a new rush,
Confusing admiration for love,
I went around spouting lies,
Of how I fell in love with that girl,
A girl who never knew I existed,
Perishing the feelings, I resisted,
Never gave her the chance to ever find out,
Who I was.

17, witnessing my enemies get demolished,
Studying hard aiming for scholarship,
Overlooked on myself and things I haven't polished yet.
My first girlfriend and I ended,
Way beyond anything that could be mended,
It wasn't cheating nor lust,
just,
a lack of respect for me,
And no matter how much I worshipped her,
She threw coffee in my face....in public.

18 and I'm still not found out,
Mind still somehow clouded with doubt,
As though I'm a teapot without a spout,
Unsure of what remains my true purpose,
Maybe this is a blessing or a curse,

19, I recovered from my first breakup,
Had a crushing sensation that I've had enough,
Of love and trust , almost given up,
But the feeling ends abrupt,
When I witnessed my mother married.
I reached for my phone, hurriedly,
called my ex to see if she's married,
She wasn't.
Stumbled on a revelation,
That my best friend of ten years is dating my ex,
Felt an intangible relegation,
As though I've been pushed into segregation,
Day dawns spent in complete isolation,
Because amongst losing love,
I felt I almost had enough.

20, I found solace in submitting spoken thoughts,
Between finding peace and skill I was caught.
Afflicted with my own self,
I ventured to get help,
In the form of poetry.
I developed a crush for my close friend,
Because where the horizon ends,
I saw her and me holding hand at the end.
I strayed from the path of mutual attraction,
To explore myself and realised,
That although we went to the same school,
We spoke of the same things, lived by the same rules,
We would never work,
To afraid of the hurt I might cause her,
I said there has to be other paths we prefer,
I gave her up like I gave up drinking.
We remained close friends to this day.

21, will be the year that I graduate,
University is over for me,
Busy schedule cleansed up,
Finally able to say I've had enough.
Hanging out with my close friend more,
Because we always had open doors,
To our separate lives.
Hopefully I,
Find a girl that I could feel infatuated,
Set sail into a world so saturated,
Because 21....
is what I make of it.

If you love me, do not read my poems
For when you have finished reading,
You will no longer love me.

Every path laid,
Is another path made,
A different pathway,
To part ways.

Why wait for someday?
Why not make it today?
You can wait for time to pass by
With each second
A different grain of sand
Passing by an hourglass
That captures nothing
But the hours left in our lives.
Wait not for those who cause
Heartache and sadness
But
Let the grains of sand
Cascade to the bottom
Of an hourglass
And the arms of a clock
tick on
As you wait for love.

The stars may guide our walks of life,
But it will always be ourselves,
That pave the path we walk.

It will always be ourselves,
That must walk the path we paved.

Like a river flow,
We are a stronger force,
If we follow our own heart and dreams.

She climbed up to the highest branch on that tree
Clung onto one piece of bark at a time as she ascended.
Found a seat padded with leaves to soften the branch
She yelled from the top of the tree
'You look small, like an ant from here',
She made her way back down,
Stood in front of me , face to face,
She said in a whispery voice
"You look beautiful and handsome from here".

'No one is perfect',
On the surface,
She is marvellous.

But

She's lactose intolerant,
And thats when she said,
No matter how close,
Someone comes to perfection,
No one can be perfect.

...

Yet from her perfect mouth,
her perfect heart,
her perfect soul,
I could still feel she is perfect.

My thesis,
Puzzle pieces
Aligned side by side
Like Bonnie and clyde.

Each person is a piece
Formed into a masterpiece
Every blank has a fitting tab
Every shell has a nipping crab.

Some pieces aren't meant to fit
By force the puzzle will look ****
Placing trees in the blue skies
Complete truth in complete lies.

Humanity is a giant puzzle
For every critic is a muzzle
Fitting right in between
Creating a beautiful scene.

'Quit while you're still ahead
Or one day you'll end up dead'
And I pushed the limits
Till I was content with infinite
And I woke up the next morning
To the sound of people mourning
That 'quitting' had died yesterday.

A painting is chaos, and chaos is human;
But a painting of you, is a divine creation
I do not look for your face in photographs
Because unlike paintings, I know that,
A photograph is perfection in a moment
And you are perfection in an eternity.

I've been wondering so much,
      About when we will eventually lose touch,
But then I realised all it takes to mend a broken heart,
        Is one step forward and a new start.

We live in a world where some choose to sit idle by
as a cry for help is silenced by an obsession with wealth,
as mental health concerns suffers the silent treatment
and reason categorises wounds and scars to visible marks.
Sometimes the marks are visible, the physical projection of pain,
the doctors deem them fixable, as if the pain ingested
could be cured by a pill or an injection, it's reckless
to assume pain from a broken perspective.
It is not effective to judge what should and shouldn't hurt,
sometimes it just hurts, the dirt in a wound waiting to blister
like a twister caught between an earthquake and a tsunami,
an army of different antidepressants swallowed without hesitance,
but sometimes it still hurts. It just hurts.

We live in a world where suicide is one thing countries share in common,
and often we ask ourselves 'do politicians ever think about people?'
The feeble argument between money and lives, as the night
passes its light onto different matters. When a person falls in a forest,
can their cries for help be heard. The muttered words are non existent,
but the persistent debate of what is going to be next in the budget cut,
loses touch on what is really human; 'when are we going to fund the help
that mental health concerns deserve?'.

The children is our key to the future, like candles alighting tomorrow
so why are we letting mental illness blow out the lights.
The children is our key to the future, but what future must we share
if humanly care and compassion is missing from the equation,
a new train station will not provide a shoulder for those who need it,
is human kindness disappearing?
How many more lives must we watch perish?

Atop the mountain gazing down,
I witness a collection of goats,
And right by then sat a small town,
Filled with gold, and boats.

I shifted angles and looked to the back,
A bunch of buffoons with nothing,
Staring at me as I screamt attack,
Ten, twenty , thirty men all coughing.

"It must be the ***", said one bearded buffoon,
"it must be the weather", said another,
And one with a scar said "it must be the moon"
And then finally "it must be my ****" said my brother.

They all ran towards the town, plundered the gold,
Made it so that the children could never grow old.

When I was a kid
I lived with my grandparents
And god forbid
They ever enjoy each others company.
I grew up being taught
That if your feelings come short
Just go water the plants
And all your sadness turns to naught.
I was only a kid at the time
But even I knew love wasn’t in their mind,
It was more of a tolerance.

Flowers only bloom
In the face of peoples gloom
Because every rose petal
Lives from a pain that settles
inside all of us.

When you speak of razors and scars,
I feel an indentation into my heart.
While I look at the night's beauty and stars,
You're looking at a way to tear yourself apart.

There's nothing I can do and I have no clue,
I just wish I had a gifted ability to make it better.
All of this, every bit of it is all very new,
Back then you use to be such a go getter.

You used your blood as ink and a blanket as a canvas,
So even if I could kiss it all away, it'll be there later.
So even if I find the Wizard of Oz and escape Kansas,
The pain you cause in my heart is so much greater.

I'm so tired. I want to make you happy but I just don't know how. I'm so very tired. Like a cloud permanently stained with grey. You never rained water only blood, and I could try mend the wounds but I'll never be able to put you back together. The scars that run alongside your arm, has transitioned to run alongside my heart.

Her body,
The canvas of each poem she couldn't write.
Each cut of a blade,
Each edge of a razor,
Each ink of a bleeding pen,
Each pierce of a broken page
Spells out all her unread poems titled-
'Maybe this is better...'

You know you're a poet
When you have walked the tightropes
Of being placed into a confined label
And still look up to a brighter sky of hope.

You know you're a poet
When you hear echoes of voices
That resonate within your mind
From all the mistakes and bad choices.

You know you're a poet
When you can see shades of colour
Within a black and white film
And see value beyond the dollar.

You know you're a poet
When the winter comes you cheer
For all the new found imagery
Like the sight of snow that is white clear.

You know you're a poet
When spring has arrived
You think of a spring in a step
and how a pen-spring is alive.

You know you're a poet
When heartbreak is motivation
For a chance to write sullen words
And heart ache becomes a wonderful creation.

Each line overlays the preceding line,
Building a foundation to yours truly;
A passageway to bond your heart to mine,
With bridges of stanzas and roads of words.

A simile for your exquisite smile,
Like the luminous pearls from the oceans;
Or like stars that last in the night awhile,
Yet remembered for an eternity.

A metaphor for your beautiful eyes,
The way they would gently look into mine
And sometimes rained as clouds from the blue skies;
Out of security and happiness.

Poems are a fun thing to write,
The way my pen lit up at night,
And the only way I ever felt bright.

It became more than just an ordinary hobby,
Surrounded by people who said poets are ******.

Poetry is a way of life,
A way to survive,
A path for people who pray to stay alive,
Settled a life filled with strife,
And nothing left to do but let words strive.

That is why I'm still on Earth,
Writing felt like natures calling,
Because even when I was free falling,
Picking up a pen,
Meant picking myself up again.

The tiles turned to dust,
The metals turned to rust.
The glass turned to shards,
That is when people turn to bards.

If you've ever had the chance to message me,
You'll realise at times I'll use the word ****.
Its nonsensical in a way but for me it meant more.
**** was the first word I can recall my late father saying.
**** was the word that brought laughter when I was sad.
**** still remains to have nostalgic value to me.
**** reminds me of the times when I pooped my pants,
And had people help me clean myself up.
In a way that **** and pants story reflects moments,
Moments in my life in which I became a horrid mess.
**** isn't just ****,
For when I die I don't want people being sad,
Or even uttering 'oh ****!'
I want them to say 'oh ****!',
For then and only then would I know that,
I truly lived.

The **** monster was a friendly one
He'd love to lay on the roads under the summer sun
He'd love following in the footsteps of those who run
But he for one never felt useful to anyone at all
So he decided one day to rescue people at a single call.

The **** monster slowly exceeded his name
Became the **** hero
But still had people criticise his methods
Saying "your ways stink"
Or the even more rotten responses
"You disgust our city "...

But he kept a high head and decided to spread cheer
For when you love something
You will give it all you have
And the **** hero really loved the city.

'Pride cometh before the fall' ,
I've spent too long standing tall,
Holding shoulders up high,
And constant sights on the sky.

Mind on macabre of past figures,
With heart on the bigger picture,
So I join a queue with those who fell,
Into a bottomless pit known as hell.

I fell joining Goliath and Caesar
For having too much pride
More leader than people pleaser,
And thats how I died.

For Pride Cometh Before The Fall

You see, red blue and yellow.
They were all friends,
They had been setting trends,
And each colour had its own personality.

Red was a hothead,
Always jumping to conclusion,
She hated any confusion
So you would have to be precise.
When she loved however,
It was with a burning passion,
And when she hated,
She would make you rain blood.

Blue was peaceful,
Always the sullen eyed boy
He loved the sky,
Love the sea,
But at times he felt all alone,
And as a result,
he lived with the name he was given.

Yellow
Loved the sun,
He loved having fun.
If one were to describe him,
He was rather quite mellow,
And theres a calming presence
That comes along with
the words he speaks.

One fine night
As they spent in each others company
With fine dining and wine for delight
They decided to do something thrilling.
They joined each other
In a night full of lust filled fun
And as blue started kissing yellow,
Imprints of green on the canvas were seen.
Red got a little lonely and decided to
****** blue away from yellow for a moment
As they got to busy acts,
Red and blue left a patch of purple,
that rained along the walls and ground.
Yellow was allured by reds smell,
As a result he snatched her into his arms
Caressing her with his tenderly touch
and so formed Orange.

They formed a rainbow of happiness,
A combination of different colours.

When I was younger,
I'd hated god for what I wasn't,
When I grew older,
I'd thanked god for what I was.

I vanished from the clique of bees,
Became the shallow end of seas,
Metamorphosed from a worm,
To a creature that never squirms.

I'd hated god for what I wasn't,
I wasn't ever attractive,
But as time passed and I aged,
It became all reductive.

I'd loved god for what I was,
I'd loved god for who I was.

People that can hurt you, the ones that can really hurt you, are the ones that are close enough to do it. People that get inside you and... and... and tear you apart, and make you feel like you're never gonna recover. ****. I'd... I... I would chop my arm off right here, in this restaurant, just to feel that one more time for my wife. My old lady, she didn't just break my heart. She... She'd rip it out, she'd tear it apart, she'd step on that ****, feed it to a dog. I mean, she was ruthless. She brought the pain. But she'll never hurt me again.

-Frank Castle in the TV show Daredevil

I don’t think love is about changing or saving a person, I think it’s about finding someone who’s already the right fit.

                 -Arrow (John Diggle)

The raindrops weren't all the same,
And somedays I wished they were.

The raindrops came in all sizes,
And somedays I wished it didn't rain.

The raindrops came,
And somedays that's all I wanted.

We never really knew whether this was our heart's calling
Or knew how far the both of us had actually fallen
We merely understood that we enjoyed the teasing and playing
And we learnt to appreciate it even more when it was raining.
It started with simple ideas of loneliness and singularity
Then it became a rather complete ******* plurality
We'd find words to describe the sensation as we climaxed
Only to come to no avail over how lost we were in our tracks
And it'll occupy a permanent space in my memories
Entitled 'Rainy days: my bestie taught me to write stories'.

"Oh! That's so random."* said the girl in pink.
Her beautiful eyes an enamouring ice blue.
She spoke with a vivacious smile as perky as a wink.
"Oh? That's so random?" questioned the boy too.

So as he stared into her eyes,
A strong attraction like cloud to skies,
He knew they weren't telling lies,
And to his strange surprise.

It was random, beating in tandem,
His heart rate fluctuated,
He finally said "my heart for you is random"
With a coltish smile she said *"i guess we must be fated"

You are a part of a race to the edge of the-
universe as it continues to expand.
While the rocket fuel and the flux capacitor-
Were still in ignition we found ourselves floating.
We stood still in the retrospect of time-
But we were moving light years beyond light years.

That was life after all isn't it?
A constant search and race for things-
That slowly become too unnecessary.

Keep chasing that promotion, till you're at the top-
Keep chasing the green notes, till you can buy the world-
Keep chasing the pocket filled friends.
Because one day the only thing chasing you-
Will be loneliness.

Take a little time-
Appreciate the people around you-
See the beauty within nature-
See the beauty within others-
And learn to love.

I saw a world in your eyes
Broken pillars, dilapidated buildings
Dead batteries, and broken ceilings.
I saw a painful burning empty sky
I saw little boys and girls cry
I saw all losses no winning,
Children death and soldier killings
I saw the pain inside your eyes.

I held you together from crumbling
And as the skies started to clear up
I saw volcanos reverse erupt
And the ground wasn't rumbling.
In my arms, you saw a future with me
And all I could see the seeds of a new tree.

Red rivers flow through
Black and blue corrupt our hearts
Slowly perishing.

What if my connection with God
Is nothing but just a facade?
Do I forget my prayers for help
Or do I learn to find answers myself?
I've made many different mistakes
And I hold myself for the blame.

God; maybe I can't be helped
But let's hide it between books
Volumes of volumes on a shelf
Just so I don't have to remember.

I let the greatest things go
Trying to chase the wrong things
I wonder if I can learn to forgive myself
When the inevitable bell rings.

I remember the days when I called you angel
We kept our hearts hidden playing house
But we were truly strangers to one another.
I remember the days when I called you darling
And kept running back to your side
Like I was caught between revolving doors.
I remember the days when I called you my love
Without knowing the true definition of love
Like I had been illiterate my whole life.
I remember the days when I told you I loved you
Without knowing the extent of what 3 words could do
Like a prophet sitting on a million tales.
I remember the days when I saw your face
I wept, I smiled and I laughed on the inside of myself
Where a knife could never ever penetrate.
I remember the days when I cheered upon your success
Where your joy meant my happiness
Only to realise I placed you on a pedestal.
I remember many things, but I can't seem to remember you,
I can't remember the memories,
They say when you part ways with another,
The memories become experiential,
That they either become coated and distorted
In bitterness or sweetness,
That they become coated in beauty,
But I don't remember the memories,
I don't remember you.