Love is fear,
eye to eye
love is fear,
hand in hand,
love is fear.
heart to heart.

I am tethered to you
by a slender golden chain.
A puppet and
its strings above.
An ordinary girl and
a spectacular love.

The depths of my bones have hallowed out
to store our memories
and ours alone.
Clear as day, sweet as honey,
but as gentle as the wind,
as fragile as a snowflake under a spring sun.

We are one
and yet not one enough.
Two halves of a destined whole.
How disheartening it is to realize
you are mine
and yet also betrothed to Providence.

So I whisper prayers
for a mourning
I will never have to feel.
I whisper prayers of winged feet
to carry us to an unbreakable,
unshakeable land.

Because love is fear
And I fear my bones will stay hollow
without you.
Love is fear.
And I fear my body would buckle
under all that heart break.

To love is to fear.
Fear that we may never be
eye to eye,
hand in hand,
heart to heart
ever again.

gd

A hurricane danced around my room
for what felt like an entire year
and I stayed right in the eye
to collect all my tears.
Beaten into submission,
completely paralyzed by the pain,
I stayed still to protect what left of me
was untouched by its acid rain.

The winds knocked me to my knees.
Nothing but smoke and grey
as I looked up at the sky, facing my fate,
begging the heavens to let me walk away.
Instead, I was kicked to all fours,
left to grip soil so deep it turned my fingernails black.
And even against night’s raging hail,
I only found solace when I counted what I lacked.

My breath gave in and my heart gave out.
For months I was at mercy to a tempest
that just left a ringing in my ears
and replayed all of my deepest fears.
I screamed at the void
into the dead of night
and it only whistled back broken promises
packaged in poisoned pieces of light.

Even when the clouds broke,
I felt no relief beneath my feet.
standing felt like sin
and my reflection was no longer mine to meet.
A stranger’s eyes stared back in silence.
Change was not my choosing.
A slave to the storm,
but it all felt like my doing.

gd

If pain was a colour, I feel like it would be purple.
At a crossroad between the sadness of blue,
And the rage of red.
Bruised. Confused.
A consequence secondary to the impact.
Not intended to pierce skin, but lasting long enough to feel it.

How can love be the only thing able to create and destroy;
Mimicking the divine, yet making you lose faith in it altogether?

My eyes are coloured red.
Cheeks flushed with despair.
Salty tears splatter my sweater.
Nails chipped.
Sun down.
Clouded and silenced.

Disoriented from the recoil of a loaded gun pulled too soon.
Every melody sounds flat, but the ringing in my ears remain sharp.

I can only hear the faint hum of my heartbeat,
Attempting to carry on.
Barely blinking. Eyelids half shut.
Egg shells have turned into shards of glass on every floor I walk on. Disconnected. Discombobulated.
Disorganized. Disappointed.

A bleeding heart turned purple.
What would it take to feel whole again?

gd

I wore black
from head to toe.
Snapped through two hair ties
trying to keep my mind and my heart together.

But it was no use.
Useless,
because this godforsaken place was love-less
and cruel.

They say honesty without tact is just cruelty.
But honesty can slice your soul
just to spare your life at the very last second, too.
Every breath feels like the last.

Hanging onto the very last thread of normalcy.
When the clock reaches the final hour,
I pray for sweet mercy.
I pray for peace and peace of mind.

But I am left in pieces, nonetheless.

gd

There is no song in the whole wide world that would be able to capture this sadness. I hear notes in my head, but they all fall flat. Dissonance dominates my peripheral and the ringing leaves me bruised. And confused. It takes my breath away whilst suffocating me.

There is only hurt. There is only pain. There is only anger here - deep rage.

A place to call home has burned down from these flames. And I am watching the last few embers flickering from a distance. A homage to one heart split in two. And there is no amount of glue that can salvage these ashes. Hell, there is not even love to latch onto.

There is only hurt. There is only pain. There is no peace here.

gd

What if my trauma wins?

What if the doubts swallow me whole
because this is all I have ever known?
The darkness all around,
not even the slightest sound,
but my heart beats like ocean waves
leaving me to tire,
begging me to drown.

They’ve made my chest feel heavy for hours,
for days,
for weeks,
sleep reeks of tears suppressed,
sheets a mess,
a failure at best—
no rest.

No rest ever
not even within the cushions of my mind.
They whisper my happiest thoughts
only to douse them in day old wine,
lighting the matches,
tearing the seams,
my faded dreams
sprawled all over the hardwood floor.

What if my trauma laughs?
Because I dared to challenge it
within the cages it built,
filling my mouth
with all the words I never had the guts to spill,
onto pages dripping with
nothing
but guilt.

When will my trauma leave?
When all is said?
When all is done?
When life is lost?
Just tell me when
and where to run
because I am tired of fighting a war
my anxious mind signed me up for.

gd

I have been collecting plane tickets
without even realizing that
they've been collecting dust
in the corners of my room.

But how ironic it is,
presenting itself in plain sight,
watching the matter of time
build up around all these memories

Memories as fleeting
and as temporary
as the pile of dust
clinging to its own past

I just find it so difficult to wrestle
with the beating of my heart
because it creates a song
that leaves me in awe

Paralyzed,
frozen in place,
forcing me to listen
and wanting me to stay

And foreshadowed nostalgia
always seems to run its fingers
down my spine
at the most inconvenient times

Because I still haven't found home

Or maybe I have -
Maybe the bright lights
and the city traffic
have always been calling my name

And I always find my fists clenched
every time the sun sets for the moon,
stealing the day and
distinguishing the light

I am just so tired of saying goodbye.
I'm tired of sleeping the night
knowing that I'll be
gone in the morning

I'm tired of the car rides
and the plane lines,
and the endless paper tickets
that remind me

I'm somewhere else than where I should be

Always on a path less travelled by -
but little did I know
I'd have to do it alone
on some barren road that always feels cold.

gd

Sometimes I find myself searching
and searching
for pieces of myself that
I've never really wanted in the first place.

And I'll keep that pamphlet,
and I'll cherish that trinket,
and I'll store that bus ticket
just for safe keeping.

And I'll sleep for hours
to see if I can find
what I've lost
in my subconscious

but over
and over again
I find things I never wanted
in the first place

and I'll throw them into the sea
only to swim back to shore,
too late and too far gone
to realize I'm going to have to jump back in.

And maybe I'm talking in circles
and maybe I never really belonged
anywhere
other than where I sleep for the night

Or wherever I decided to
set foot to scavenge
for any remains of myself
that I took for granted.

Maybe a nomad
only finds peace
at the edge of losing everything.
Or maybe they never find peace at all.

gd

How did we shatter our innocence?

Tripping over the laces we tied together,
building homes solely out of old memories,
finding comfort in our worst pieces of skin
and calling it love at 3am
crying about insecurities and infidelities.

Darling, how can it still be called love
when the fires are burning down our sanctuaries, and our sanities?
How can it still be called love
when our foundations no longer mimic the Great Wall of China,
or stand indestructible like the concrete Pyramids of Egypt?

We are paper thin
and just as fragile
as the tiny paper houses
we used to make out of playing cards.

Our hands no longer fit
like perfect puzzle pieces -
they mimic sheets of sandpaper instead,
scratching out every ounce of sincerity
we once engraved into each other's palms.

Our footsteps fall separate octaves away,
out of sync and out of touch,
in this **** grand scheme
somehow labelled a masterpiece.

We were once flawless.
But now we've just made flaws
out of every single thing we used to fall for.
Now, we're just flawed.

gd

My life is at ease.
Unstoppable, but still at ease;
similar to tidal waves,
unable to stand still
yet calm in its constant wavering.

For once,
I feel so unattached
from my surroundings
so much so that I no longer depend
on crutched souls similar to myself.

I no longer cower
at the thought of solitude
or cringe at the sight of corners
or frown at the feel of nothing
except for my own hand to hold.

I am okay.
I am not great.
I am not disastrous.
I am just okay.
And I am okay with that.

gd

Do you remember
when we carved our names into that old wooden desk
and you kissed me while I scraped at the surface
as if we were going to last like the promise I engraved into that table.

A shame we didn't.
And even more of a disappointment it was to not see it coming
and yet you latched onto every single neuron in my mind,
engraving your own initials with the same blue pen.

Numb as a needle,
I can still feel the letters scaring over.
They'll stay there forever,
even though you didn't.

gd

I.
You were supposed to last. And I think this very statement is the reason for the sudden pangs of pain in my heart.

II.
I am a ticking time bomb, and even the thought of your name—the slow rhythmic articulation from that first letter to the last—is causing an eerie, yet familiar, squeeze on my heart. And I'm pinching myself in every single place that you touched as an attempt to make myself aware that you're never going to touch those place again. But I'm tired, Love. I'm tired of having to pinch myself every single day just as a reminder that your were real. Were. And for the past couple weeks, I thought I had it all together, soaring over the mourning only for it to come knocking at my door with every memory you managed to leave me breathless with.

III.
But don't be fooled by time. Time doesn't heal anything. If anything, it is only a master of torture: playing around with your efforts at forgetting, then flaunts all the promises you ever made in front of your face just so it can film your features when it shreds it to pieces. Time does nothing for you. And at this point, I'm afraid it's using up every muscle and nerve in my body not to pick up the phone and tell you I'm willing to settle.

IV.
You were the best thing for me; that just doesn't leave! It doesn't walk out the door or tells you you're gonna find someone great. It doesn't break up with you as you're on the ground in tears. It doesn't kiss you with sincerity and then never even looks back.  It doesn't shatter your heart, your poor glass heart with a boulder and then make you watch as the shards are ground to grains. It doesn't leave you, not like that. And it for sure doesn't linger. It doesn't stick around because it shouldn't have to.

V.
It doesn't ask to be in your life even after it cuts the wound. Because it's supposed to last. You were supposed to last.

gd

Sometimes you meet people that you grow to love.
And then other times, you cross paths with some
that just click with your senses;
heighten your emotions so high everything else seems to disappear.

But beware of those who just snap into place
for they will inject their venom
into the depths of your heart
and leave skid marks on the surface.

They will plaster your atriums with Picasso murals
and sheet music from Bach
only to cover the walls with kerosene
and burn it to the ground for the sole soul-wrenching sake of "art".

And that's okay, you will live on.

But there will still be scars at the entrance sites from every drop of poison.
There will still be scars from the train tracks he carved
from the bat of his eyes and the pucker of his lips.
There will still be scars from the blaze

because when fire burns it does so
passionately
carelessly
wonderfully with furiosity  

And you will find pieces of clay under different piles of ash;
You will find treble clefs and fermatas
hidden under every ember that was left to die.
You will still find beauty in the destruction.

And maybe it's still okay to admire the ruins,
even just for a little while.

gd

I'm trying to mine for gold under all this rock
solid ornaments of disarrayed desires. And I
am having trouble coming to terms with how
I've been flipped upside down one hundred &
eighty degrees without a single warning; not
a single foreshadow from my past personas.

And I cannot even piece this puzzle without
finding a couple lost causes stuffed under beds
and old covers that hid everything else I could
never really come to terms with, face-to-face,
unable to find the solid grace. And I can already
imagine him trying to impress you—flirting with
ease. And you fall for it every single time, love,
because your heart is caught on the inside of your
sleeves.

gd

You turned
me into ash;
I turned you
into poetry.

gd

The first one hurts the longest.
The second one hurts the hardest.
And the third one doesn't hurt at all.

He's your fifth 4am ***** shot
your beer pong binger
your 6am hook up,
numbing every nerve in your entire body

and it feels the best but ends up the worst at 5am
when he's holding your hair over the toilet
and singing you to sleep
when he's lacing his fingers through your hair

and your waist
and your hands
and through the tiny fractured crevices
between your injured heart.

The third is the tallest climb
the longest fall
the most honest hour
the pounding hangover and

the beaten emotions you never even knew you kept pent up
until he's slipping his tongue through your mouth
and you're pulling his bottom lip to pull him closer
to let him take whatever is even left of you.

The third is your weakness
because he will catch your heart when it's still on your sleeve,
tattered and stained from the ***** you threw up
as easily as the words that got him to hold you like he used to.

The third will whisper
the third will listen
the third will taste like the butterflies you thought you poisoned.

But the third is definitely a charm.

gd

I miss your beating heart making music in my ears.
They used to sing lullabies
that would always leave me drowsy in desires,
and I wonder if you still hum as often as you used to.

Because that was the mood shift,
the tell tale sign that you were happy.
A soft rift here, another octave there;
I miss that sound because it always filled the silence with serenity.

Recently however, silence has been all I've been used to.
And the only beating heart I'm hearing is my own,
running like I've been running miles.
But in actuality

I've only been sitting still, staring at ceilings
wondering if I could turn back time
I wouldn't have had to watch you turn around
and never look back.

My hands always shake just thinking about you
and I can't help but wonder if maybe
it's because your fingers are no longer intertwined
to keep them still.

I miss the warmth and the pure comfort.
I'm wearing layers and fake smiles
and I can't even think about tomorrow
without wondering how things would be different

if you were here today.

gd

I.
I still get flashbacks.
Like that time we explored a forest at a whim
and found out we had a thing for bridges.

And I think it was because we were both awestruck
with how easily we were connected by two apposing worlds,
so we made our way to the middle of the arc to claim it as ours.
And you used to hold me from behind with satin hands;
a soft satin parachute
that was ready to catch me if I ever fell.

And every single time I did, you were there.
You cupped my big cheeks,
the ones you always made fun of,
and kissed me for the first time in the middle of green and bush
like we were the first humans on earth,
destined to be the last.

II.
But now I'm staring out the window of my car
and I'm freezing inside and out.
The earth is no longer green;
it's white,
plain Jane
and frozen.

It's surface is glistening against the moon
and I'm witnessing more sleepless nights
than I did when your presence was still part of my life.
The sheets of snow look like sheets of cotton,
so close to satin.
So close.

But I promise you, Love,
they could never replicate your touch.

It's covering the soil we used to explore on,
as well as my leftover slivers of sanity
I've barley managed to scavenge.
And I can almost guarantee,
if I fall,
nothing will be there to catch me.

I still get flashbacks, mostly of our bridge.
But it's just a memory now
because all the green and bush and trees
that once surrounded us have gone silent,
all the trees have forgotten who we are,
all the trees have turned to ash.

gd

Just the thought of you
makes my insides feel like someone is playing chords
on my veins and they're strumming intensely
to all the pieces of stanzas I've failed to make into songs.

And this very scenario happens thrice a day
for good luck . . .
but it seems I've just fallen out of luck
because you're nothing but gone;

disappeared into the air
like smoke
that were once embers
of a blazing fire.

And now you're just ash,
over-ignited,
and I feel like throwing up
at the sound of your name

because the pesky little butterflies
are festering in my stomach
since the electricity running through your fingers
was the only thing that could ignite them.

They're just fluttering there,
rotting,
growing old and restricted
within the lining of my digestive tract

because I can't seem to digest the very memories of your voice
oryoureyesoryoursmileoryourstupidlaugh
without wanting to cut myself open
just to let the creatures inside me free.

I just want to be free.

But now I'm trapped
under some bittersweet limestone sentiments
that are leaving my mind
just as crippled as my heart.

I was soaring, you know.
You had me flying without wings,
and now I can't even look up
from the carpet you left me crying on.

gd

They were crazy about each other
and that was the problem.
Everything was meant to be laced
with flames and extravagant passion.

Below the blistering winds of winter
were these lovers wearing nothing but their hearts
and sooner or later they were bound to get burned and scarred,
bruised and confused about the madness they drowned in.

But in that moment,
nothing held truer than his hand in hers
and his eyes full of sincerity
and sweet clarity.  

And I swore they could've burst into flames
if they weren't fused together by their fingers,
as if some magnetic ripple navigated the
thump thump thump

throughout their nerves—
so loud and so prominent it demanded to be heard.
And I heard it, behind the sheaths of snow,
under the overpass and between the bundled bystanders.

They were crazy about each other.

gd

I met this guy in
white Ralph Lauren
and right then and there
I knew we couldn't be friends.

We clicked like a puzzle;
literally every piece seemed to interlock
and I couldn't keep my eyes away
as if this burning desire lay between us
across some paperweight bridge of tension
and affection

and please, I just want to cross it
and I want to throw my hands up
and scream to the mountains
and just yell ***** it! at the top of my lungs
and plunge into whatever void his presence has planned for me

because I can't seem to
shake him off of my mind,
so I know this is already bad.

I can feel it chattering and creating a
foundation under my epidermis
scattering my nerves in places
I did not think were possible
and there sits a bed-sized
crater just for him. And I
know it's bad, I know
it. And I shouldn't
even care and I
shouldn't let it
happen but
here I am
o  n  c  e
again.

gd

I.
I've got piles of poems lying at the back of my mind
and they all whisper your name
and try to get me to cave
into the moons of your eyes
when you smile a little too hard and
they reach up until the sides of your irises.

But my heart always beats a little too much
and a little too late when I think about you.
It's singing love songs and causing chaos
ahead,
and above,
and all around this **** place.

And maybe, just maybe,
I'm in for much more than I expected
because I'm getting caught up
in potpourri promises
and hope—
stupid hope.

I've got so much on my mind,
and the majority has engraved
w o r r y
into the lining of my temporal lobe
because I cannot seem to shake out your voice
and your smile

and hands
and how they held mine with such clarity
and sincerity
and it's your laugh when you throw your head backwards in exasperation
and when you look at me with those eyes—
those crazy brown eyes.

II.
But I can't tell if I'm losing my mind again
or just throwing it around like a soccer ball
to feel something.

I just don't want you to wake up one day,
with fire in your eyes
and flames at your fingertips

trying to resist the steam rising from your ears
and your smile will fade into the smoke
and your eyes won't mirror my awe

because in that moment I might just burn to ash
at the sight of you changing your mind,
darling.

I might just disintegrate
at the thought of you turning around
and never looking back.

gd

There's something knocking at the back of my mind
and it sounds like pebbles hitting the nerves if my temporal lobe.

It's tapping in morse code and I can almost hear it
singing all those songs I was meant to forget.
They're slower though—acoustic and remixed
to the dying beat of all our memories.

If I focus on it long enough
I could probably pinpoint where it's coming from,
but I know I'm just choosing not to.
If I focus on it hard enough,
I could probably repaint its rainbow splatters on a canvas,
but I'm just choosing not to.

If I focus on it long enough,
I might just hear your voice again—
coated sweet nothings in nothing but syrup,
but I'm just choosing not to because

you never chose me, darling.

Even until now, we flinch at the sight of each other
rather than letting the light consume us like all the times before.

And maybe I'm just mad at the stars for not giving me some sort of sign
or godforsaken comet to warn me from falling for you the first time,
or the second,
or over and over again

Because it's not fair that you've still got my head spinning
when I cut every single piece of red thread that tied us together.
It's not fair that you've got me second guessing my present
because of the ashes and rotting debris of the past.

There's something knocking at the back of my mind.
It's tapping in morse code
about all the questions you left hanging in mid-air.
The thumping is getting louder and I can't—

I can't make it stop.

gd