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i got vapor for a soul
fleeting smoke, no remorse
i shiver at the sight of all
like my mouth chiselled
like my eyes drawn shut
blinds replaced by a wall
we are not humans here
we are abandoned homes
lost cities
twelve thousand feet under
sunken ships, skeleton hopes
we rejoice at the dark sky
thunder inside my bones
we are sad
we drink the fallen king’s wine
we are mad
we call it victory.
i call it sweet release.
sometimes, to write for yourself is a must. write about what it feels like, and how it hurts. doesn't matter if they don't understand. they're not meant to know.
damage has always been your forte -
an expertise,
your recalcitrant venom.
you annihilate
before they could burn you
and your fortress is painted
in a deep, metallic rouge.

you wear the word 'vicious'
like a crown;
loyal weapon tucked neatly in the
taverns of your mouth.
you are adroit with words, after all.
such a fine weapon,
such a clean cut.

realms bow down, subjects to terror.
sweet vilification's best served
in your court.
not one soul would dare to beard
the lion,
no single breath,
shall make your empire topple.

the caucus adjourns; your grip is slipping
you may be the head,
but we

your realm will rot
from the inside.
(we) often fail to look deep within us to find the problem. (we) combat the diseases and threats, yet are oblivious to the poison in our veins - killing us from within.

then there's the other explanation. but you'll just have to read the title. ;)
i want you to get tired
tired enough to leave me
so that i'll know
that all the people
in my life
left for a reason
that way i'll understand
how i became like this
so lonely
so broken
so afraid of love and trust
as if it'll burn me
and maybe
you'll prove me right
that i was never enough
to make people stay.

but still i hope,
you'd be the one
to prove me wrong.
will she prove me wrong?
this young universe
vies for your attention
the conspiring fates
merely pushing us along
as we are pawns in this
ephemeral board game
we don't win nor lose

instead we crawl our way
to the finish line
even if it's not
our race to finish.
"we had moments, you know? but we no longer played by our rules. universe took over and we were merely stuck in a circumstance. it felt like getting caught up. in waves, i mean. you can't exactly control the waves though right? you can't control the ocean. you can't control what's not yours."
i see you at crossroads
your face the only landmark
i have traveled both ways
more than once
the traveler in me
have been lost for ages
catch me turning around the corner
catch me falling for you

you are the crossroad
but none of these trails
will ever lead to you
don't know what led me to write this really. it's not like, i was inspired to or anything, idk. lol.
don't be disappointed if
you think
you don't write enough.

you are walking poetry, a
breathing epitome of art.
you make up for it every
second of your life.
to all poets out there ~ thank you for sharing your works, your heart, your thoughts. and tbh i would love to meet more poets around the world!
they say,
"**** kid you write so much"

i say,
"how could i not when my home
was stripped off words
for so long -
so ******* long that my lips cracked
like aged paint tearing off walls.
and i thought my voice
will forever be lost in these desolate rooms
that i learned how to scream
without having to make a noise."

and maybe if they say,
"**** kid you write so well"

i'll reply with a shrug,
"maybe for you...
but i never thought about it
all i know is that i've felt empty
for so long -
for so ******* long that now i let myself write.
write whatever. to fill the empty
rooms with new, colorful paint."

Just wrote this and didn't even edit it or check for errors. I guess sometimes being impulsive in writing lets us surprise ourselves with what what we truly feel inside.
we all have a layer of paint,
settling like second skin on our bodies.
don't even deny it,
just because nobody sees.
when the darkness have risen,
so do we, along its rough edges
secrets crust, faces emerge
and we bathe under their grudges.
knives are sharpened,
tongues begin slashing,
and you don't even care
you don't even care
you don't even care
i just can't believe how someone like you
could see beauty within someone like me
for i am ultimately certain ambrosial roses
don't dwell with common wildflowers.

because darling when you bloom
i wilt.

for so long i aimed to be different
to the point where i rejected water
only to allow them pool around me
along my fragile bones so much
that my roots were no longer intact.

so tell me would you?

tell me how is beauty
even capable and allowed
to dwell within ostracized places
where there is not enough
sunlight to see it anyway.
"you're a ******* for falling for me, wildflower."
the fireworks made me
see the word 'alive'
they said people like me
couldn't feel things
but i did that very night
the page was flipped
we embark on time
maybe this year 'round
we'll do it right
but darling, did the fireworks
make you feel alive too?
make you feel hope
make you want to explode
make you want to be beautiful
make you want to stay
make you scream
make you smile
make you stare
and say 'hey, look at that,
i made it through again."
made a cheesy poem about new year ** wishing u all the beeeest <3
it is that of my greatest curiosity
which have led me to question
how a simple, average girl like me
could be both weightless and heavy
at the same time.

i plan every anchor that grounds me
planting them like flower seeds
in flower beds, and not cement
i drive each steel into school desks
at corners and shared beds
trying to escape not reality
but the worlds i built for myself

meanwhile chanting
"i fit in, i fit in, i fit in"
among a room full of beating hearts
and breaking hearts
i conjure distance - tied neatly
like a bouquet as i try to stay away

because planting anchors on people
is not the most ideal way to stay.
the wind whispers her name too often.

and more than ever, I feel -
her arms open like an arc to a city,
and now, I return.
such welcome, such warmth
my lady, a vision
colors, no longer ebony
it's charcoal with the glow of

the sky is not just blue,
it's her breath - pastel and sweet
and sometimes fierce

apple no longer red -
red is her lips
red is her confession
three words slicing my skin
red is blood
and I flow for her
red is the shape of her skin
so I draw her with my eyes shut.

the sun - no longer yellow
the sun - no longer the sun
the sun
is she.
the sun - no longer
worth hiding from.
she fuels me and
in the city named after her,
I live.
for t. hello, hp. missed u. so much has changed, so much is yet to be written.
how i wish
one day you'd find
the one.

she - who would
know you
more than you do.
he - who would
care enough
to repair you.
she - who would
know what
this means to you.
he - who would
not be blind,
not be insensitive.
she - who would
see your poetry
and know
it's your heart.

and though
i know bigger
catastrophes deserve
more poems,
that this pathetic
poem is a smoke,
not a cloud.
but i think
it still matters
that you'll
have someone
who will not
close their fists
upon your heart...

...after trusting it with them.

so when you find yours,
find me and tell me
how to find mine.
**** ME UP WORLD just kidding i'm so depressed so here's a depressing poem i hope no one finds my corner of the internet and realize i'm a ******
i dreamed a pair of arctic eyes that are
so burdened i mistook them as mine
violet frost fingertips caught in time
shackle the withdrawn soul for his ****** crimes
i didn't know who it was
the corner of my eyes darkened in a way i don't recognize
but *******, when my heart would've leapt
i decided to tie it instead
like a beast that is fed
with leftovers and lifetime debts
i discouraged the feeling of staying alive
not long after their blows left me on the brink of defiance or
just waiting
to die

i tamed my heart, pray it won't be naive
because for some reason, that man in my dream
was too late before he realized
when they beat you and you scream in pain
you mustn't be the one to apologize

but for this i want to say sorry -
i'm sorry for befriending my demons enough to know my way
around this hell
and survive
i blew a candle
and wished happiness for everyone
except myself
do you ever get that feeling
like you're just blindly stumbling around
half awake, half drunk with dread
as if your feet is scared of the ground
and you hate it because it drags on
it's not like you even have a choice
screaming for help doesn't work either
when you've already lost your voice
battlefields where there shouldn't be
and countless casualties in your soul
they all search for bodies
but your stoic face serves as the wall.

i'm in a constant battle with myself
half awake, half drunk with dread
and every night i lay awake
hoping these thoughts won't leave me dead.
warriors, fighting the most difficult battle of life - yourself.
my heart is not made for sunrises
for every uncertain step,
every unwritten day,

my heart performs haphazard thuds
the world spins if by chance, i count
my pale limbs are jerking with fear
i'm nothing but an epitome of doubt

sleep beckons me closer yet it teases
eyes round, yet misty and cautious
saccharine voices in my head drip venom
this war won't end with simply just a truce

for it craves voracious amounts of blood
like honey so sweet, a taste of defeat
but i've been a prisoner longer than fear
inhaling anxiety is now how i breathe.
i'm stuck in a difficult position in my life as of right now. i wrote this as means of trying to cope. i hope the universe will send me comfort, assurance and strength.
here is my heart,
here it is.
you are reading it.

"why do poets
have this courage?"

"what courage?"

"to be open."

"we were the caged.
we were the voiceless.
but now,
we are not.
don't let our courage make you believe
we have always been brave."
i love you all just wanna say this
ostensible smiles,
and clammy palms,
whirling thoughts,
and checking if
you're still breathing.

treacherous mouth,
please don't blurt
anything stupid.
you anxious heart,
fulfill normal speed.

the truth is
i feel exposed.
there, i ******* said it -
vulnerable and small,
adorning my favorite
shirt, now soaked

tracing eyes
looking my way,
pinning me down
my seat. i am fine,
i promise.
ignore my unworthy
presence, please.

what i hate the most
are interactions like this -
conversations with the person
trapped inside my head.
she's me. she's
unreasonable, tired
and scared.

for how can a room
full of people
choke you
without laying a finger.
make you squirm.
make you hide further.
shrinking into a corner.
until you're just a
sweaty frigid wall of
Social anxiety is so hard to deal with. For me, this is what it feels like to have it. The struggle with social anxiety makes simple tasks turn into small battles. Some people think we're being irrational but things like this shouldn't be treated with ignorance. To everyone dealing with social anxiety, I know that it's tough but you've made it this far. You're tougher and I am proud of you for being brave even when not enough people understand what you're going through.
poems written
out in vain
love has kept me blind
ambrosial promises
turned rosy skies
****** red
‘it is alive’ they cried
screamed to the heavens
the gods no longer
mustered the courage
swallowed the blades
revolution in cages
no longer afraid
love has kept me blind
but not for long anymore
now we arise
the arsonist is knocking
we transform to nebulas
rip off dead skin
wash off our sins
love has turned me
to a monster
so how shall i begin?
keep your dog on the leash
wouldn't want it to go wild
you make me trot behind you
wouldn't let you feel riled
you taught me "never say no"
bark! - you say, sit! - you say
when did i become like this
the break-myself-just-to-obey
kind of buddy, your little puppy
wag my tail then fake my smile
wow! you trained me well, scoiety
swear i've been good for awhile
where's my treat, what is it?
bag of sweets, bag of praise,
a gold tied to my very leash?
but not a lot, just in case
i ask for too much, be too much
tell me how to act now
speak now, you think i'm yours
while i think of the word 'how'
how did i get myself caught and
learn how to listen too much
making them think i won't bite
because they always forget that
anyone with a mouth might.
society will not break me. will not cage me. will not be me.
if the ocean would carry me
it'll collapse under the weight of my bones
made with cement and steel
and the burden each brick owns

witness the waves howler and scream
just like the heart caged in my chest
blood bubbling around the muscle
surging with every beat and protest

the bottom of the sea may be quiet
like my tongue folded neatly in my mouth
though feral beasts deep within
choke with pressure more than i can count

the ocean and i are seperate
both flowers from different gardens
one ephemeral, one wilting before your eyes
but both's head tilting up to the heavens

sorrowful eyes, swirling, storm awakening
chaos mingling betwixt water and blood
ravid souls in dire need of feeding
cursed and blessed by god

i wonder if i could carry the ocean
within just the corners of my palm
i and the ocean - we are one
a catastrophe after the calm
i love the ocean. it makes you feel a lot of things.
morning lights peeks through the door
i walk across the screaming floor
not mindful of the blood that drips
nor obvious to the pain that seeps
into the crimson carpet of despair
i wonder how darkness got there
the door showed no signs of entry
yet last night the bottles weren't empty
i like to think that these kind of days
are something i'm not really meant to face
maybe one day it will all cease
let not that day be when i shall decease
for i wish to live life so unlike now
yet my mind violently demands how
the rooms here rattle as i walk across
synchronized not to life's ability to pause
and how it makes you feel like you're gone
or maybe in two places instead of one.
i want to post a poem today but i really can't think of a title. help me, maybe?
if poets ruled the world
i shall be at peace
for no amount of pain
will evolve into bullets
just petals, some wilted
but never not fragrant

watch men and women
and everyone in between
ignite chasms with sparks
then joy will be served
in generous servings
but never ignorant

the angst you give
will be crystals until
forgiveness cradles you
for tears will be valid
the triumphs kiss the sky
but never arrogant

if poets ruled the world
everything will turn
from beautiful to ethereal
wrecks, clouds, smiles,
hearts, storms, bees,
dreams, humanity, havoc.

if poets ruled the world -
watch the world burn
and like a phoenix -
watch it resurrect.
Hatred will turn into a garden where you could dwell but must come out at some point - and not bullets firing angst. Happiness will not be taken for granted for behind it is a road of sacrifices that led up to that. Your sadness won't need a reason to be real. Your reasons for being sad will be real. Everything that came before and shall come after will matter. Watch the world burn, but it will be beautiful for it will not be wrecking. It will be from the ashes of resurrection.

If only, if only.
i want you to know
that i'm sad
but i'm afraid
you'll leave me
after seeing this
much wreckage.

i used to have
lungs for breathing
but now they're cathedrals
of the echoing air
i don't want to
breathe in any longer

i used to have
a heart that lived
but now is filled
with sand and poison
i wonder how
i could still feel
my heartbeat

so if you don't mean it

don't tell me you love me
don't admire the
hand painted ceilings
starting to peel off
because it's still "******* beautiful"

stop calling me beautiful at all.
stop seeing the ocean in my eyes.
stop kissing me as if
you feel resurrected everytime
i whisper your name on your lips.

and please
if you don't mean it
don't put your head on
my chest
and tell me
you've never heard
of anything more
magnificent and
a l i v e
ha look at that idk where this came from i'm not even in a romantic relationship but whatever i hope this resonates with someone at least lol this is for u
we comfort our souls with lies
and we
burn our homes to be free.

we dab perfume on our dead bodies
and we
stitch smiles on faces to be happy.

we turn up the music (too loud)
to be deaf upon the cries of our names
wedged between curses
and scorching regrets.

we try to dance along with the songs
of ghosts -
whose skeletons have been
long forgotten in our antique closets.

we drain bottle after bottle,
light a cigarette after another,
**** ourselves so we don't die -
a surrender to loneliness is worse, after all.

and so...

we say goodbye without considering
that we are worthy enough to stay,
we apologize for the words
we actually meant to say.

we crawl back to our hollowed grounds -
yet we love with the strength of that
who has never been loved.

we travel barefoot on unknown,
desolate roads
in the hopes to find where we belong.

we do the mistakes we've done before,
not because we are stupid,
but god, because we've learned.
your eyes weren't my first

but then it's the deepest
one yet.

maybe i was only destined
to marvel,

and all along destined to hurt
**** your ocean eyes.
being with you is like being lost
when you refuse to be found
like a thrilling chase under the rain
clueless of where we're bound
to go

holding you is like being set free
after years of fearful hiding
it reminds me of raindrops on a clear day
how crying could be a beautiful thing
to do

whatever we do, when it comes to you
i mostly ache so deeply
this intense and humming craving inside
is mercilessly feeding off me

and i say let it.

i was never meant to be whole anyways.
i was meant to be yours.
Love has it's way of making us feel and ache like never before. To be truly in love beyond depths requires us to put ourselves out there for that person and learn to trust. Learn to accept that the person you love may be broken, or fragile, but that mustn't reduce our love for them. And for those who feel broken, never let anyone tell you that your love is invalid. You are meant to love and be loved.
the universe welcomes you home -
with its
arms stretched wide with
it calls your name to form
art with you.

"ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪs ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴏғ ᴊᴀᴘᴀɴᴇsᴇ ᴘᴀᴘᴇʀ. ɪ'ᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏᴇᴍs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ғᴜʟʟ."

so i hope that when i look away,
know it's not of indifference.
it's not that i can't see you,
but it's because -


and just like an unworthy mortal
looking at gods...
they can't help but look away
from beauty.
tell me about compassion
and how you can impress
flowers bloom and blossom
out of kindness and love.
tell me about that hope
coursing wildly in your veins,
declaring you as the epitome
of each incandescent promise
and ethereal splendor.
tell me about bravery
and all the onerous battles
you've withstood,
hands held with that
of another mother -

generation after generation,
history after history.

tell me about acceptance,
tell me about love,
tell me about misery,
tell me about sacrifice,
tell me about sunsets,
tell me about tomorrows,

and in return i will tell you
about your radiant eyes
and how i've come to fall
in love with every wild flower.
i will tell you
about your smiles
and your heart
and how i've come
to learn about never giving up
despite all odds.
i will tell you
about the strength
i forever owe to you
and how i've come
to treasure what courage is worth.
i will tell you
how phenomenal you are,
how empowering,
how magnificent,
and how this world
is lucky to have you.
#poem #poetry #poet #mother #mothers #mom #mothersday #love
the doc said,
"try to trust people
more. show them that
you care. tell them
how you feel."

to which i agreed.
maybe, it will
help me.
clear my head.
fix me.
by letting others
see, just how broken i am
and allow them to
try and put
me back.

the next day i said,
"ma. wanna read
my poems?"

she said,
"im busy honey, maybe later."

i never asked again.
and she forgot.
i never went back to doc,
and my mom still
thinks i hate her.
lesson 101, that's how i call it
a game i play, my life at stake
i look at you then far away
if i ever smile i make a mistake

if you're close to me i count
up to three, and then i stop
staying still so you won't feel
and hear my heartbeat drop

i must admit it is not easy
the worst i ever was in a game
one look of yours in my direction
i lose, i lose, it's all the same

but what a funny game, right?
one which i might never win
although there is no reward
to lose in this would be a sin
**** you. you know i am a sore loser. ****. you.
i wanted to write a poem,
but didn't know where to start.
with a
striking sentence maybe or
a word from the heart.

because sometimes, writing could be difficult
when your head is nothing
but an echo of a myriad mess,
like untangling strings of blurred words
just so you would d r o w n less.

and i wish to ask those poets
who could write so hauntingly.
crimson hearts tattooed on paper
souls for the world to see.

but then, poetry would never judge,
it'll just call, saying:
' darling, your emotions crave me
grab a piece of paper
to set yourself free. '

'i want to write a poem
pencil on hand, an old paper from my bed stand
sits empty
for wherever should i begin?'

i still don't know.
I wrote this when I was around 14 (needs tweaking, i know), right when poetry began to mean more than just a hobby to me. It became my outlet, my safe haven, my refuge. And now as a young poet I will continue to hold it dear in my heart and continue my passion.
and so i crawl back again
even though
i promised not to return

the sun has melted my wings
and the blades of grass
marred my flesh

the earth turned its back on me
so i'm sorry
i'm sorry,
for once again,
here's my poetry.
poetry,  i'm sorry i ever left.
as i'm laying down tonight
i think of how exhausting it is to wash you off my fingers
even if it's not like i ever get to hold your hand
or touch you, for that matter.
but everynight i have to wash your essence off my fingers
like trying to get rid of gasoline but always ending up
setting myself aflame. and that despite
knowing how dangerous and hazardous that **** could be
you just couldn't stop because you love the smell of gasoline
that fills up your lungs like pumps of adrenaline
right before the stench of your own burning flesh
chokes you to death. most nights, i wash you off like paint.
you can tell that i'm trying to forget what
i bled after your face appeared on the plain canvass
when my hand automatically reaches up and
perfectly colors your lips, and i couldn't help
but resemble them to pastel pink petals
of the roses growing in royal gardens
and i know i'm fooling everyone
making them believe that such expertise
is achieved because
your bottom lip have felt my gentle stroke when i
don't even know how your lips would feel when they quiver
under a curious and longing touch.
so i watch the colors spiral down the drain.
i watch my hands brush against each other
so intensely, trying to scrub the paint gone even
if it won't go away. even if the blood is clean.
even if i look clean.
how can loving you secretly be ever clean?
i'm scared it will never go away.
i am a painter in my own sense, capturing a glimpse
of something so intoxicating and aesthetically forbidden
then turning it into something tangible.
this is how painters show that their hearts
collapse with just a name
with just a glance not meant for their way.
and they paint what little of the hope
that shouldn't have been there in the first place
and every night. every single night they would aim
tirelessly to turn it into something they could allow.
something that could exist not only in my head.
something that i can call mine even if you
don't know that i am yours
and i knew this because your face
have begun to fill every blank wall
in my ******* house and i wonder how it is
possible to fall in love with someone the whole world
believes you shouldn't.
they say that when we turn our hands into fists
it is the size of our hearts.
and sometimes after the long hours of painting
i wash my paint-stained hands clean of
an abstract myriad of yellow and blue and black
and red. red for blood. red for love. red for fire.
i wash my paint-stained hands
turning them into fists
so maybe, just maybe
it will be the same
as getting rid of the colors off my young broken heart.
colors for you.
yet i always end up washing them off
with ******* gasoline.
and you still dare to call me 'smart'
i am an arsonist and a painter. i burned while i burst into colors. and were the one that blurred my distinction between the two.
i hold the pen with familiar longing
but unlike a child, or a maiden filled
with youth - i did not gush within contact.
instead my hand trembles,
not with fear but with the impact of
memories resonating through time.
i remembered how i used to be me
a person i know but don't understand
as if a stranger i see everyday but
whose name i still don't know
despite the fact that we've smiled at
each other maybe once or twice.
the person i was before was not that nice
neither is the person i see now
on mirrors and people's eyes when i
stare too hard because i don't recognize
i was a planet, now a comet
i was a wanderer, now lost forever

yet i feel human and alive
there's so much to do, so much to see

but for the mean time i want a fragment of me.

so, let me write again.
let me say my name.
it's time to return home. it's time to return to poetry.
she breaks like this,
you just don't know it.

she breaks at 9 am in the dairy lane
of the nearest grocery store with
a list of what to buy and of what
to regret.

she breaks when she laughs but
it just doesn't seem right even
when the joke is so bad it's good
or her.

she breaks as she makes a call
people probably don't expect
because it's just out of the blue
and isn't her at all.

she breaks when the sun has risen
and her skin glows golden and radiant
she'd fix herself breakfast and it's the only
thing she'll attempt to fix.

she breaks when you tell her you love her
and as you treat her with revelation
but the only thing she thinks about
is how her body betrayed her.

she breaks when they call her 'pretty'
and maybe she'll appear flustered
they don't know her mirrors back home
makes her heart recoil.

she breaks when you don't see it
because she doesn't want you to
at all.

she breaks and you won't have a clue
because she doesn't even know that
she is.
lately i've been writing a lot to cope with what i feel and what i observe from around me.

she breaks, but she's alive. for her that's more than enough.
when we break, sometimes we scatter
and that's okay.
what's not okay is
that we often forget
we have the power
the ability
to heal
and mend broken bones
and broken hearts
and broken souls.
it may
never be back to what it was before,
but will be
what it was meant to be all this time.

- stronger
posting an old poem i wrote a couple of months back for it seems fitting. i've been going through a writer's block. :( any suggestions how to get over it?
there will be times i'll
be writing to find myself


there will be times i'll
be writing to lose myself

you'll never know which.
i would do anything
to have your lips stutter my name
let your words grasp my hand
watch your eyes search for mine.

to wait for you is impossible yet divine
when we exist in places
so far from where we are destined.

we are parallel lines

i would do anything
for us to be a painting instead
i'd color you in hues of unrequited love
and put us on a frame
i'll give it to you and say

'keep it. keep us. keep me'


'because we are so much more than just parallel lines'
finally found the inspiration to write again. i believe sorrow brings out the poet in everyone.
golden written poems
reflect my aching soul,
i hope you see
what you're looking for.
and though it shows
that try you must,
what you should find,
you'll never know.

i won't apologize for,
the run down home
with faded bright paint,
art hung on tilted walls.
it served as solace
when nights turned sour,
my clandestine sanctuary
in the darkest hour.

it may seem to you
how unconventional -
that of my liquor at dawn,
and breakfast at twilight.
when i breathe fire,
i do not wince,
it triggers my passion -
my soul just grins.

you, however
speak in arrogant tongues,
because you can't see my heart.
the noise you make,
repudiates my art.
though you feel superior
and put me beneath your boot
i'll rise in time,
and retrieve my worth.

i'm different, it's true --
disarray of vivid colors,
an underrated being
of unseen collections.
and so i should not
explain to you just why,
it's useless to show you
for you see in only black and white.
it's all water off a duck's back, darl. you are fine just as you are.
she was gone

before i could even tell her,
that her voice was loud enough,
and the way she colored me
never matched anyone’s.

the missed years
and wasted sunsets
now sit across the table,
mocking me into submission.

there was a lot i could’ve done for her.
it now rests upon my shoulder,
they form like alien letters
and weigh like blood.

the legends are real,
listen - i know now.
there is nothing heavier
than bearing who you were everyday.
this is the year to be free. please please, if you’re still hurting - i hurt with you, and so know that i guess it’s okay to get better. we will get better. happy new year, poets. may our love never die.
it's getting worse
thunderstorms in my head
it's getting worse
strangling me in bed
help me
help me somebody
untie the ropes
get me to stop
painting on skin
there's too much
red paint within
hold my hand just hold
my hand and walk with me
get me out of this storm
with the sunlight
in your eyes
i want to breathe again
without having
to **** something
inside me
it's getting worse
help me
it's getting worse
**** me -
**** it -
what's the difference
between the two
when you want it to end.
it's been months now
we loved each other
with a love too catastrophic
and consuming
for mere teenage vessels
to carry.

it was too demanding
required too much thinking
made us bleed
without flinching

our hearts were baby birds
being forced by this magnitude
of feelings to jump
without knowing how to fly.

our hearts were still
starting to learn
how to love -
and it was too early.
it was too strong.
it was too high.
and babe,
we were too young.
not relevant to my life, but something i know a lot of teens go through

— The End —