And I have been telling people
To never hesitate,
To always love,
To never waste time

I have been reminding people
It's okay to cry,
It's okay to care
It's okay to show affection

I have been urging people
To help the broken
To pull the down
To heal the beaten

But all these are just excuses
All these are lies
I want people to save other people
*I just want people to save me

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.

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.

Like the sound you hear when you hear nothing

I am numb

And even if it makes me feel so strong

It makes me feel so weak at the same time

I want to feel
But

Maybe it's because you were never there, or maybe it's because you have always been - you are the good bye I've been wanting and not wanting to bid.

I am too busy
saving other people

I forgot to save myself

even
the lies
feel so
real

I wish I could save you from falling apart.

Hold your head up, love
The waves, they crash
The raindrops fall
It’s okay for you to stumble
Yet the tides rest
The storm ends
Get on your feet,
do your best

Why do you keep turning my periods to ellipses?

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

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.

Inside, I am dead
Outside, Sometimes I wish I really am

I feel like I lost something. But I can't figure out what, or is it a "who." Whatever it is, I forgot the how's.

I can't sleep. I'm trying to remember what it felt like holding that thing again.. I can't remember. Maybe I forgot how it felt like to be whole, or maybe that thing was not really mine from the start. Oh my god... what if I lost something that wasn't mine? Is that even possible?

I'm panicking. I can't remember if it was myself that I lost. What if I never really lost anything.. what if I'm just losing myself..again. I don't wanna go back to being incomplete.

"Hi. Do you hear me? Can you read this? Have you seen her? She looks a lot like me...but happier."

There's something fascinating and subtly terrifying about thunderstorms - the way it touches the ground and the way it cracks the sky open. It's like the angels want to reach out to us, but whenever they get closer, something gets destroyed.

I'm afraid that one day I will no longer remember the way you walk or the way you eat, or the way you write, the way you speak, or the way you tilt your head when you look at me, even the way you make your eyebrows meet. Or how you pull me closer, or hold my hands, or smell my hair, even the way it makes you jokingly wanna puke.

I'm afraid that one day I will no longer remember the taste of your lips, the shape of your face, the smell of your skin, the sound of your voice, the texture of your palms, the places of your scars, or moles, or your calluses.

I'm afraid that one day I will forget everything that matters..
*But the thing I fear the most is having to wake up one day
and feel forgotten.. by you.

Everything that kept me awake most nights no longer bother me, all the white noise I kept hearing was gone.

They were right, it is so much harder to write about things you cannot relate to - I can no longer write poems about longing and melancholy.

This is what it feels like to be a writer who has already been healed.

I am happy.