like yesterday you told me that you were a fan of books and stories. with there i tried to write a book about us.

lately i have realized that even if the book is about us, it's like the whole book is just dedicated for you.

i read almost every page of my creation and you on the other hand was reading a book about two people who fell in love with each other because of their fondness in reading books and writing.

i conclude that with the book that you read is you think about us. but i saw no thrill in your eyes after you've read it.

and then a thought dawned over my head, i assumed too much. i thought we were on the same page. but then it hits me and i remembered.

i remembered that both of us were reading different books.

thousand of rhymes scattered on my blank sheets. every syllable holds the memory of battles that i've faced and will be facing, spilling my very soul on every piece that i've scribbled hoping it will be the metaphors to relieve my withering verses. i was nothing but a bleeding warrior— a bleeding poet with the paper as my shield, my heart and emotions as the ink, and a pen that will serve as the sword in this big battlefield.

but i was never alone in this battlefield. along with this journey, i had my comrades who did also possessed a heart that bleeds. allowing these very feelings and voices to flow from thy hearts. as our words were written down it has formed a life. thus, i've always thought that pen is indeed mightier than a sword. and if you did asked me why, it's simple. the pen has a huge and far-reaching impact while a sword does only have a short reach. and so we've made the pen as our weapon to stop wars and to create peace. using it to change hate into love and using it to also fight for friendship.

these words and verses sure could heal or ****, either start or quash a strife.

we are nothing but the bleeding warriors who wields the power of writing. the users of words and emotions, again with the pen to create new life and letting it be an eye-opener. we are the defenders of the underrated, illuminators to darkness, and fighters of the words unsaid. the chaotic emptiness of our papers that requires to be filled and fought; the blood we've spilled in the battlefield, our words as the blade, and the verses and rhymes we've created to build a fortress and shield.

we are the ones who breathe and live for poetry and literature. the ones who have no hesitations to cut down our souls, to tear down our faith so long as we could still bleed to create a masterpiece, and a life-changing chance for ourselves and to everyone. we have hidden a lot. from every composition and lines created, it held and hid the voices of pain, sorrow, anger, hate, retribution, change, and feelings. with these voices and words that are hidden and unsaid, it revealed the unfamiliar to familiar minds with the help of us, the bleeding warriors.

and until now, i keep on bleeding. i keep on writing. but i have as well devoted my life along with them— along with the writers of the society, the voice of the voiceless. and if ever my life had and would come to an end, sure it would be with full glory and might.

crowned herself with a heartache
she can never be in euphoria
has something gone wrong
looks like she have lost her way

crowned herself with a heartache
with numbness and memories
a torture that was intense
she needs peace

again crowned with a heartache
the bubbly presence
that disappeared easily
craving for acceptance

crowned with heartache
her tears that kept on rolling
a heart that keeps on tearing
with darkness that overtakes a soul.

and now just crown her with a heartache
that she’ll use as a story to write
with just words on paper and yesterday’s stanza
torn and scattered on the winds

—nightseeker