It's often the little things
that leave nail marks in our
crumpled hearts, gripping
tighter and bolder at each
racing moment almost as if
that person's smile had
poked your lungs and left
you breathless and wanting
and there you are
stuck in momentum,
no desire to break free,
spiked with adrenaline,
injected with hope and need
and please, please, please
let this be,
forever

it's always the little things
that can break you
*—L.m.

Time runs fast I knew, but this time frame that I'm warped in acts as if it is being chased down. Too fast, too soon, the day ends and I can't look back anymore with the fear of being painfully whiplashed; go, go, don't stop, just run! just run!

but my feet is growing tired, I can't enjoy the view. I want to stop, dear god, stop time. I don't want to be dragged by its long hand and be pushed and poked by its short one. I want to smell the air, not have it slapping against my skin; I want to remember every view, not to only see a blurry vision; I want to enjoy time, not be abused by it . I'm aging too fast, too soon, that I don't even remember what I ate last night. Everything is on perpetual Go! Go! Go! and I am continued to being pushed to participate in a race I don't wish to join

I didn't even felt
your touch nor did
my heart mimic drumbeats
when you've held me down
but i certainly
froze and burned
when you have withdrawn

"You never know what
you've got until it's gone."

You've left
and suddenly I love you

maybe im not as useless
as I think I am

I mean, why else
would you use me, right?

it's unsettling to realize
that with the strength of continuing to exist
meant distracting myself
whenever it feels too confined
and that's not to say that I've lived a life devoid of joy
but the fear of making the same mistakes again
had rendered me incapable of letting anyone in
and I have no more sentiments to spare

it feels lonely, but safe
and it's fully heartbreaking to think
that I really tried to live this time,
I really tried and I know it showed
but everything seems forged

I often tell people that I was always the one getting left behind
   but of course
I never once told them that I gave them all the reasons to walk away
  in the first place

my life isn't tragic,
my mind is.

it took me 365 days
  to get over you

guess now I'm back to square one

once you had
    a taste of sadness,
          do your best to warn
          other people not to eat it

    *—L.m.

I have yet to call myself
my own again

a figure skinny-dipping in
the dark, ready to drown herself with
every chance she gets then pushing
herself out of the water to taste air,
thoughts too toxic for her own good
yet she never hesitates to consume
more and more
she twists herself in whirlwind romances,
covered in glitter, sunshine smiles and songs
she'll laugh, she'll cry, then tomorrow night
she'll say goodbye, as if she's always ready,
always attempting, always striving to go,
but then she'll shiver, she'll shrivel,
haunted by loneliness, fearing isolation,
so she'll stay, knees numb and frozen.
Up until she yet again craves
another midnight swim.

When I was younger, my hands were too small to reach for large shelves, my heart was small but its faint beats used to calm me, my eyes were small, curious, full of wonder,

I wonder why I used to wish to grow up fast? Was maturity that appealing to me? Were the adults around me look so contended, so sure of themselves, sure about their lives, that I can't help but crave for that sense of security that I wished in every dandelions I caught, every shooting stars, every birthday candles,

But now that I am growing up, my hands got bigger but vulnerable to bruises, my heart got bigger, heavier, unbearably suffocating, my eyes bigger, more open, gradually growing dimmer, colder,

and now I don't need to wonder why adults seem to have it together
because now I'm
doing my best to pretend I am okay, too

you told her
scars are there to be a reminder
that she once survived
death (and won)

but she knew
deep in her heart,
those gashes on her wrists
are there to remind her
that she once wished for
death (but failed)

I stayed in one place, as if my feet grew roots and bounded themselves
under the soil while my face withered from the drought and my arms left people with bruises because I pricked them with thorns, but I still didn't leave, I still couldn't leave. I wanted to be here when you came back so I was fine there, I did not mind the blaring sun and the pitying eyes--and when you did show your face, you got mad at me for placing myself at risk, you went grave when you realized the agony you think I've been through, and so you asked me repeatedly, again and again and again why I bothered with him when he had told me countless of times I have the liberty to do what I wanted, and so I simply answered three words.

i keep forgetting that it was never your fault
   i keep forgetting that you are no mind reader
   we both have the demons
   we both have the nightmares
   we both know what it's like to be dead
   and sadly, we both don't know how to cherish
   we both push away people
   we both can't accept happiness
   we both crave we both want we both need
   maybe it's our fault
   we're both born selfish
   and we both take take take
   until everything got so dried up we don't have anything else to offer
  
and even i can't take how empty the air is between us


*—L.m

It didn't begin like it was intended to be written longer—
I had thought maybe you were just another story when I ran out of things to say when I'm out drinking with friends, another unfinished sentence with no meaningful content, maybe a blurry image of an unlikely encounter, you know how it goes, we'll spill secrets then pretend we don't know each other the next day and it wouldn't even hurt. There were no fireworks, no warning signs, no pacing heartbeats, just you and I on that lazy August afternoon, talking. And yet, when I said goodbye, you said goodnight, and when I expected nothing of you, you woke up the next morning with me in mind. Days had turned into weeks turned into months, and it was so easy. Talking to you has been so easy. There were no pretense, no hurry, and no longer did any of us utter goodbyes.
There's so much glittering potential—you, me, and the notion of us being something greater.

In an alternative universe, you're probably getting more sleep and I'm probably out of school or you probably remember to jog in the morning and maybe I still don't drink black coffee, and it's nice to fantasize of how we would've met no matter what, maybe in a different scenario, maybe as adults in the same workplace or we happen to be at the same café one fateful night.

Or maybe we only have this chance to get it right.

But regardless of the other infinities in this endless realm of possibilities, I’m just glad this reality exists and it’s ours. That against all odds, we’ve managed to find each other. I am with you, and we are in each other’s lives, prominently, lovingly.

You and I are meant to be in this moment together.

Loopholes are escape routes
     that can save you from a tight restriction
     that can relieve you from an oppressing pain

Tell me then,
how did you find stabbing me in the back
      as the greatest ran-away-plan?
      Was it as fun as you imagined it to be?
I hope it gave you the greatest pleasure
      that I no longer have you on the leash,
      that you no longer have to bear with me