this world is cruel
and relentless and doesn't
care whether you're emotionally
Stable or not

Humans grow into bitterness
And regret like there's is a
Predisposed mould of nostalgia
Waiting for us all at 65

I don't want that.

I want you to resent growing up and I want you to resent becoming mature.

there are only beasts in the form of emotions that wait for you there,

emotions so tampered and recycled

that they have convinced
the world that god
doesn't exist
and that
hearts made of concrete are
better than hearts
made of unforgiving love

they only want to lie to you
because they don't want you to feel

(you are the frost that gently spreads across the corners of my windows, like grape branches in a vineyard all stretching towards the sunset in unison, you are a miracle and you are a phenomenon, but you are too fragile and beautiful for me to touch. You are my morning cigarette and you are the reason I pray. You are the atmospheric Jazz music that fills up the souls of men who spend countless nights trying to forget about love. You are undeniably palpable. Darling, you are a woman, the universe is constantly in awe of you.)

I belong to you
whether you like it or not.

ever since that celestial night we spent together reminiscing about how broken we both are

but not the kind of broken
that people are afraid to touch,
or the kind of broken that can be seen on the surface,
the kind of broken that comes with giving your heart willingly into hands that tremble and shake whenever they hear the word 'commitment'

what was it about your touch that made me forget every dark and protruding insecurity that paid rent in my heart

Was it the way the corner of your eyes wrinkled every time you blessed this world with your forgiving smile

was it the way your laugh sounded like every one of my favourite songs perfectly in unison

was it the way I finally understood what home meant when you grabbed me by the shoulders and told me that I am a song worth being sung from rooftops

Was it the way I romanticized the idea of us, two dismantled antiques on a dusty floor, neglected and unappreciated, falling in love with each other  

maybe.

I'm not sure if you're 'the one' but I am undoubtedly sure of the way I wish I could replay moments we've shared over and over and over again and maybe some how download the first time you ever uttered 'I love you' onto my retinas

I am sure of my devotion to you and how it is synonymous with how the moon will never give up on the sun, how the bees will never give up on daisies and how we will never give up on each other

I am broken
and I am mangled
and I am terribly sorry

but I am also blossoming with love and the burning urge to finally define 'forever' with you, if you'd let me.

I would laugh every morning
At how the right combination
Of words would cause an ocean
Of nostalgia, big enough for me
To drown in.

Simple sentences like 'I miss you'
made me nostalgically homesick

Only now my home had two legs,
a heartbeat of her own and called me 'baby'

Sentences like 'I love you'...

Sentences like 'I love you' only seemed to create an earthquake inside my chest.
and when the earthquake had settled there were always whispers of 'I love you more'

Don't believe the facists
Please please please

Don't believe the facists.
born innocent, this life corrupts you
from the inside out

"You're free"

Am I?
My thoughts and aspirations,
are laughed at

My hopes and dreams, chained and
suppressed by text books and qualified education
Help
How can I be different on
a planet refusing any change
Ignorant humans, this isn't life

I wasn't the type
to write everyday,
or to get inspired easily.
but I was the type to fall
inlove each day.

Not necessarily with people,

but with the most simple &
common things. The
Smile of a stranger reminded
me that the hearts of man
were still kind.

The warmth of the sun, on my face
Each day, quietly whispered
that things will be okay

and finally, the shapes the
clouds took on an overcast day
insisted that there was
beauty in sadness, in solitude.

I honestly believe that I'll die
In awe of this unappreciated
world and that breaks my
Heart

I barely know you.
I don't know your
favourite colour or
how you like your coffee
On a cold morning,

I don't know a thing
about who you loved,
or who loved you

I know none of these things.
but I do know your heart,
your soul;
you intrigued me like a
new book in the winter,
Darling

I covered walls,
desks, windows
and even bathroom stalls
with poems.

I just wanted someone
to unsuspectedly read
what I had conjured
in this broken
imagination of mine.

I wanted them to feel,
To be happy, to be sad.
I just wanted them to see it,
to read it;

I didn't want them to know it was
me.
I didn't want them to know
I was slowly
changing the world.

Darling,
please don't be so depressed.
these lonesome nights
will soon come to an end
& we might not
be together

but my heart
is strangely content
with the fact
that we tried