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I lost myself
in the process
of finding happiness

©IGMS 2022
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴘɪᴛʏ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀғʟʏ
ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴏɴʟʏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴜs sᴛᴀʏ ғᴏʀ ᴀᴡʜɪʟᴇ
ғʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴇᴛ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ
ʜᴏᴘᴇғᴜʟ ʏᴇᴛ ᴍᴏᴜʀɴғᴜʟ
ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ
ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀ ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ ʀᴇᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛɪᴏɴ
ғᴏʀ ᴏᴜʀ ғᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ?

©ɪɢᴍs 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸
the worlds want me to fly higher,
        but you don't care about my
        wings so i cut it & put in a box.
        i had a dream,
        my imperfect dreams.
        i want to chase winds.
        but they say most birds who
        chase wind are fools,
        so i stop chasing.
        i had a dream,
        my imperfect dream.
        i want to vanish without a trace.
        crazy for a little bird like me
        who cut its wings.
        a long time ago
        i had a nest called
        i don't know
        i don't care
        maybe someday
        if you care enough
        i will have a courage
        to find my wings again
        ©IGMS 2020
She built her house
in tattered papers of
broken dreams and
expectation of people
around her.

Why is it that everytime
she open her eyes
all she can see is
the lone star
pretending to blend with
other stars around it?

Why insist?

Why is it that it is trying to hide her brightness with other stars?

Afraid of rejection?

She built her home
in thunderstorm of madness.
The idea of being put
in the sea of people
and you have a enochlophobia, swimming in fire
and flying to the ground.

I don't know where it lead her
but all I can see is the destruction.

Her destruction.
of all the love
and hate,
we are all
to the last word

i was once thought that,
when i tried to swallow the pen and papers,
i will be able to write
without using my hand.

but i was wrong.

because every time you reminded me
that i don't know how to write,
reality will criticize me that
i am illiterate in fighting
in this mess up world.


an illiterate person who don't how to use
guns and swords in fighting
for the freedom of mind.

i am in masked.

a masked person
because  i tried to swallow
the words that persist to
pressed inside my mind that
"i am already lost even if the
fight is not yet started".

it is so painful to write a poem
a poem for you
the scars started to open again
is it worth it to use this dripping blood
use this as an ink to write
about you?
every line feels like
there are thousand ants biting at my heart
i cannot fin-
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