“do you still love me?”,
i asked.

and i waited for minutes,
for hours,
for days,
every moments,
and i received nothing
but silence.

i should have known,
the absence of his words,
is the answer.

i don’t like what i see in the mirror
because i am nothing more than an ugly mess.

tired eyes
flabby tummy and big thighs
self harm scars
and layers of skins enough to hide my confidence.

i don’t like my reflection.
i don’t like them at all.

i was told that i was perfect the way i am
but then they would tell me
“maybe if you lose weight a little bit more
you could get rid of that chubby cheeks and double chin”.

so i skipped breakfast,
and lunch,
and dinner,
and sometimes i lose control and puke all the way out.
my throat would burn but i felt victorious.

and just like that i spend days and weeks and months and every moments counting calories that will flow down inside this mouth
one hundred
two hundred
not more than three
or else their terrifying gazes will speak to me and say
“ew, disgusting.”

i hate my reflection and i dislike my being
because who would have loved a person like me,
a person with self love the size of a teardrop?

and then they told me again that i don’t have to go on diet because i’ve got the body of Victoria’s Secret’s models

but again,
why would he left me for a girl
well,
she has smaller wrist, bigger chest and she’s always alive
i don’t blame him though
i am really not enough, right?

because anyone can say those three words
and anyone can say you’re perfect
as long as you fit their idea of perfection

i am no goddess and i know my place

but maybe
just maybe
someday,
i will finally be enough.

i live in a house
at the corner of the 3rd street
with white painted walls
made out of bricks of fake happiness and shattered hopes
like how my mother and my father
treated their emptiness like an old friend
and caged their love in the basement

i live in a house
with tiled staircases
and silenced curiosity
where the whys and the hows and when did it all started
all the questions
recycled, in my head at least
but none of us get the answer
none of us have the answer

i live in a house
where yelling is a way of communicating
and screams are lullabies
where good night kisses are slamming doors
where the bed feels like the only safe place when it should be the mothers arms and the fathers love
where i kneel down hoping god could at least end this
i do not want to see the sun anymore
because
the sun means another arguments and another heartbreak
until it numbs
until it has nothing more to destroy

i live in a house
by the corner of the 3rd street
where i could not call home
a house that makes me feel
h o m e s i c k
like i am in an unfamiliar town
not only lost
i am invisible
i am there but i am not there
and my voice feels like as if it were to disappear
every time i cry for help

maybe
just maybe
if mother and father
could look at each other
and feel something instead of nothing
feel love instead of cold regrets and unreasonable angers
maybe i could be at home again
maybe if my echoed voice
could reach you
and you acknowledge it
maybe i would be at home again

my friends told me that i should move on

i still have your pictures in my camera roll
for they hold the memories of us and your smile

i still have your favourite sweater hung in my cupboard
unwashed,
because it held your scent

and i still leave the half of my bed empty,
hoping when i wake up
i will see you beside me instead

i search for you in everyone
in crowded room and empty streets
it feels like u were nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

they said i'm going crazy
but maybe they're right

because i thought

maybe if i keep on having even the slightest hope

maybe you would come back.

love is a weird thing.
love wrapped his arms around you sometimes like always and
maybe this is what the hopeless romantics meant when they said sometimes home is not a place
love is like religion
where the worshippers would never hesitate to jump from the highest mountain to the lowest surface of the ocean
your head will bleed and you will still carve smiles using your lips, followed by the eyes and say thank you
how silly-
when he smiles
all the wilt flowers come back to life and bloom
and bloom
and bloom like its a spring season in december
its august and its rainy here but flowers
they last longer when he grins from ear to ear
like a silly man, like a precious silly bean
when he laughs
the chaos in my mind disappear
all the tics and all the screams up there just went quiet
its the moment of contentment
i wish to last
maybe not forever but give me a moment.
i can't stand eye contact
so i stare at him when he's not looking
and oh dear god
if this is a dream, i wouldn't mind trapped here
i wouldn't mind encounter the demons i see in the corner of my bed
i would approach them, shake their hands like an old friend
as long as i can be with him
for a little longer
but
when those lips spill the word love
i don't recognise it
h e l p me-
hate is the opposite word of love and
my doubts are loud
i hate the fact that my doubts are draining his love for me
my eyes are covered
and my ears are being plugged with earphones whispering he's lying.
my love,
i love you
i'm scared of heights but i'm an idiot and i would jump from the highest mountain in the name of love.
please-
i said please-
do not get tired of me
i want to trust you
let me put my trust on you
i'm trying.
i promise.

I have been living with my sadness for as long as I remember
And I have long forgotten how to live properly as a human being
with various emotions

It is like I have been thrown in an ocean
and no matter how hard I try to swim and chase the light
I always ended up drowning
As if my leg were pulled deeper and deeper
and the air became a stranger to me

So when you said you wanted to leave
I was not surprised
Because it was always like this
People left because
I was
too
sad.

but nonetheless i want to think that this tragedy
is not because of my sadness
it is simply because the right one has not yet to find me.

he carved her name across his skin

and burried deep inside his heart

everytime her name slipped out of

a tongue

the wound stings

like a freshly slitted wrist.

the fact that i’m unable to get close to your heart
its frustrating, irritating.

anxiety.

insecurity.

uneasiness.

it’s like i’ve sunk into the darkness
and even if my eyes are closed,
even if theyre open,
no matter how much i strained them,
only black is spread around me.
and inside that place,
im standing paralysed,
at a loss of my own destination.