The anchor that kept me still is the same anchor that drowned me

The waves that rattled your ship are the same ones that brought you home to the shore

The moon doesn't have a dark side. Hence just because you don't see something doesn't mean it's bad; just because you don't see it doesn't mean it hides.

If the world breaks down turning everything into pieces, I will save the flowers and let them live. The next stewards of earth deserve to see them bloom.

Dearest Angel,
Why do you keep on clipping your wings? You were born to touch the sky, I know how much you loved flying. Yet now I only see the sun setting in your eyes. The sky I've fallen in love with is not the same without you in it.

Dearest Angel,
Are you okay? I see trails of ashes. It's raining charcoal. The sky burns and I guess it burns you too, well a part of you at least. I can no longer see your wings. Why do you keep hurting yourself?

Dearest Angel,
How are you? I haven't seen you in a while. I guess you have moved on. I wish I did too.

Dearest Angel,
I long to see you.

Dearest Angel,
A blinding light talked to me,it showed me where I'll find you.

Dearest Angel,
My back hurts. I think I'm starting to grow wings. It hurts being able to see you, but can't touch you.

Dearest Angel,
I tried cutting my wings like you did, it's not that easy. I can't get rid of it.

Dearest Angel,
Now I understand why you had to burn your wings.

*Dearest Angel,
Why didn't you tell me? I burnt my wings, and myself too.

And like a caged bird
I've always known I deserve the sky

Yet no matter how much I long to be freed,
I am afraid to flee.

Even your bruises look like galaxies,
no matter how broken you see yourself to be, you'll always be fascinating to me.

She loves puzzles, the nitty-gritty details, and the distinct pieces. She has completed one after another, and another, and another. Yet even after she's done, the complete frame did not make her happy. She's still sad, unfulfilled, incomplete.

*Little did she know, the missing piece is not from the puzzle. The greatest riddle is still herself.

No matter heavy the world weighs,
I will carry it for you.

the ringing sound we hear
when everything was silent
became her music

the red spot we see
when everything was pitched black
became the only color she sees

she lived in a world
where nothingness
was everything that surrounded her

she lived in a way
we all called as dying

You are both the problem and the solution; the cure and the disease. You are both love and chaos, and I no longer want to stay in between.

We were too focused on the uncertainties,  we have forgotten how it felt to be sure.

And like any other phenomena
They were curious about her
"How does she start? Where does she end?" "What is she made of?" "When does she fade?"
Wrote myths and tales about her
"On her edges, there are pots of gold." "And these pots of gold, they are guarded by trolls."

But they cannot figure her out
Like a rainbow on a rainy afternoon
before they even get to know her, she was gone

She makes everyone feel a whole spectrum of colors, too bad he's color blind.

She's the ocean, people describe her as color blue. But she is not just one color: she's cyan, and turquoise, navy blue, and white. She's green and blue-green and sometimes brown. She's a spectrum of a lot of colors.

She's the ocean, people describe her tides as low and high, shallow and deep; but she isn't just about the extremes, her range cannot be measured by just how she looks like.

She's the ocean, she can tear you apart and drown you when she's angry; but she can also help you sail to safety.

All these I know because I fell in love with her, but I have a lot to learn. *She's the ocean, a lot of parts still unknown.

I am a newly ironed chiffon dress and you are the stubborn wrinkle around the beaded detail. No matter how hard I try, I can't get rid of you.

You are the rain that comes and goes
and I am the girl in the yellow dress running for shelter, soaking wet and always unready. I didn't bring an umbrella that day. I hardly ever do, little did I know I was meant to bump into you.

You were the storm that wanted everything else to be damaged
but for some reason, you cannot destroy me; I was the little kid  enjoying the storm as I dance to every beat of your thunder's roar

You wanted to be unpredictable so you can startle me, hence you came crashing the sky in broad daylight, but that too did not catch me off guard

You are the rain that comes and goes and I am the girl that stood still

Your words are beautifully crafted
When I hear you speak, I feel home

Then here I am, always stuttering
like pebbles from big boulders, I crumble

I ain't even good enough to finish this poem

She was the wanderer lost in you. Let's call her that.

I saw her treat the lines of your hands as road maps; your fingerprints as busy intersections.

She got lost in every corner of your body, exploring until she saw darkness and cobwebs on the insides of your rib cage. She was not afraid, she did not see how empty you were, what she saw was an opportunity to fill you up, and she did. She planted daisies so you could easily breathe. While you chain smoke and put out those cigars on each *** treating them as ashtrays.

She picked up every ****** piece of your broken heart; I saw how she mended them together, piece by piece, slowly and surely; she held them like each was made of glass; yet there you were choosing to break her heart every time.

She got lost in your mind; she heard your every thought – your opinions, dreams, frustrations, aspirations, sweet pillow talk and blah da-da-da-da. I saw it in her eyes she was fascinated. She was interested, invested and deeply in love. She was everything that you were not.

She stayed at the corners of your mouth for hours. Your lips were her pillow and bed; your words were her bedtime stories. One day she noticed your scars, but unlike any other woman, she asked you, "why do you keep them hidden?" Brokenness did not bother her. Instead, she asked to hear the stories behind each of them. She tried to figure out everything behind every mark. But she just couldn’t figure you out, could she?

Your clavicle was her resting place after she traced the blood running through your veins. She spent so much time looking at your eyes, wondering if they’re black or a hue of dark hazelnut. She mirrored the lines of your face and observed how they wiggle as you smile, or frown, or cry. Whatever it was you felt, she felt it too. But you never felt the way she did for you.

Then one day she finally reached the bridge of your nose, she was amazed to see everything clearly. But for some reason, she did not see that she did not even mean anything to you.

She dropped by your liver every time you gulp a six pack beer. She passed by your lungs and cleaned it each time you smoke.  She accepted everything you were, and protected you from harm, even if from the start everyone knew she should be guarding herself against you.

She did not mind getting lost in you even if it meant losing herself instead. She was not a wanderer anymore, she became your prisoner.And now that she has lost everything that was left of her, she deserves a home.

Please, to the guy who should have sheltered her when she was still whole, let her go.