I feel like everything that has happened has led up to this.
The loving, the leaving, and the not-really living
Then loving, and living, and just living again.
You hurt me, I hurt you
Then we dance in vicious circles,
We, loveless, hopeless lovers..
You love me but you hate me.
I hate you but I love you
I s there no stopping
To the madness we've become?
Do we know the answer?
Do we want to know?

Your verisimilitude is deceiving. The memories we've shared are momentous. I thought there would be a probability of "us" but you rebuff the love I've showed and left me confused. The inception of our story is the part which I loved the most. This past few days I was lost and crestfallen by the memory of you. I never felt reluctant on every word you said and promised. But they were just words, words that will never be executed. I need to obviate myself from hoping. Our love became prosaic as you slowly repudiate this nerve racking feelings of mine. The thought of you should unyoked my mind for my heart opposes with my common sense. Thank you for watching me as I fall.

I want to emphasize the importance of surrounding yourself with people who genuinely care about you and feel proud to have exist.

The surface of the water
Was rippled with a seemingly
Endless series of tiny waves
Like the goosebumps that
Elaborately covered
The flesh of your
Naked thighs.
The sound of the sea
Hungrily kissing the white sands of the shore.
The faint whispers of the wind...
The afternoon was pregnant
With poetry
But all the poetry it bore
Was pregnant of you
You
Of which there was no escape.

I would write a thousand poems in your name, but I will never capture your natural and unyielding beauty.
I would paint hundreds of portraits of you, but my pieces will never match a single smile you make.
I will walk a miles without caring whether I thirst or hunger, just so I can see your face, yet my body will give up before I reach you.
I would send you exotic and fragrant flowers as a homage to your loveliness, yet their fragrance will fade, they shall lose their color, and they will eventually wither and die.
I shall pray to God every single **** day until He smites me out of annoyance that I would be able to hold your hand even for just one second, but alas He still hasn't answered this one prayer.
I will do everything for you, and you know I would.
Yet you will not even notice me.

"I was the lover you tried to immortalize on paper
You penned each words describing me;
turning my blood into ink and my body into paper.

But this is not where I belong.
And I do not need to be immortalized in pages.
All I need and have always wanted is to remain in your memories-
for as long as you shall live, so shall I too.

Let me out of the paper
Let me in, inside your heart
Let me be with you-
Or let me go."

I want to write a novel about silence. The things people don’t say...

Lock the doors. Shut the windows.
Lock me in this heart of yours.
Your heart is my new home. And I intend to live in it alone. Don't let anyone in, and don't let me out. Please, allow me to stay, and don't make me leave.
This heart of yours, how fragile it is. A work of delicate beauty, perhaps slightly cracked or partly broken, but still, a work of wonder. This is my new home, tattered and torn, but easily repairable.
Your heart, filled with goodness. Your heart filled with love. You may not feel it - you don't have to. The important thing is I do. I feel it, and I know it's true.
I don't care about your past, 'cause I'm too busy thinking of the future. A future with you. I don't care if your heart is cold, let me warm it for you. I know you've been through a lot, but I'm here now. It's all over.
Lock the doors. Shut the windows. I'm never leaving. Not unless you tell me to.
I love you. It's okay if you don't love yourself, let me do that for you. That's my part. I love you.
Lock the doors. Shut the windows.
Let me fix this heart of yours.

Chapped lips
Dark circles
Boring days
Anxious nights
Dangerous habits and thoughts
Slipping back in my mind
How much longer
Do I have to do this?

There are things that we don't want to happen, but to accept,
Things we don't want to know,
But have to learn,
And people we can't live without,
But have to let go.

She is a scripture of broken promises and shattered dreams. Every step felt like walking on mysteries and every breath felt like drinking secrets.

She is a mess from another mess of a family. Every moment was another sad memory and every single remembrance was already a forgotten dream.

She is a painting covered in ink. Her colors have turned black and her lines have been smeared. She is a canvas no longer wanted because of a stain she cannot remove.

And so I tell her, look up. Stop stepping on mysteries. Stop living on sad memories. Stop letting your colors fade. Become as vibrant as your soul and become a masterpiece painted by yourself.

Do not throw yourselves to the bottom of the pit because of people who want to use you only as a stepping stone. Do not bring yourselves down because of flaws you are taught to hate because those flaws are what make you different. Those flaws are what make you beautiful and those flaws are what make you see the beauty in yourself. Do not hate others because of things you do not accept and do not turn from those who need help.

You are a scripture of promises and dreams and that very thing is the reason of your existence. To love and be loved by others but more especially to be loved by yourself. Understad that the hardships you have gone through are the lessons you will remember. You are allowed an infinite number of chances to turn things around, but remember to make every chance matter.

Remember to give people your heart and remember to give yourself patience. Patience to grow and patience to love. Patience to learn and patience to accept.

Learn to live how you want to live, because your life is a story that you write with your hands. Do not let others write your story for you. Write your story with your own words, sentences, paragraphs, memories, remembrances, dreams, promises, and with your very being.

Write with your hands; write with your soul.

Humans?
Yes.

Humanity?
NO.

She is a scripture of broken promises and shattered dreams. Every step felt like walking on mysteries and every breath felt like drinking secrets.

She is a mess from another mess of a family. Every moment was another sad memory and every single remembrance was already a forgotten dream.

She is a painting covered in ink. Her colors have turned black and her lines have been smeared. She is a canvas no longer wanted because of a stain she cannot remove.

And so I tell her, look up. Stop stepping on mysteries. Stop living on sad memories. Stop letting your colors fade. Become as vibrant as your soul and become a masterpiece painted by yourself.

Do not throw yourselves to the bottom of the pit because of people who want to use you only as a stepping stone. Do not bring yourselves down because of flaws you are taught to hate because those flaws are what make you different. Those flaws are what make you beautiful and those flaws are what make you see the beauty in yourself. Do not hate others because of things you do not accept and do not turn from those who need help.

You are a scripture of promises and dreams and that very thing is the reason of your existence. To love and be loved by others but more especially to be loved by yourself. Understad that the hardships you have gone through are the lessons you will remember. You are allowed an infinite number of chances to turn things around, but remember to make every chance matter.

Remember to give people your heart and remember to give yourself patience. Patience to grow and patience to love. Patience to learn and patience to accept.

Learn to live how you want to live, because your life is a story that you write with your hands. Do not let others write your story for you. Write your story with your own words, sentences, paragraphs, memories, remembrances, dreams, promises, and with your very being.

Write with your hands; write with your soul.

Tonight, I will forget
And leave the memories
Of you
And all about you
On the shore.
I will let the waves
Wash every fragment
Of your smile
And smell
Because my love,
I want to see again
How the sun rises
Over the horizon.
I want to feel
How the sun touches
My cheeks.
I want to travel
The world
And marvel
At the beauty it holds.
I want to run
And feel alive again
On every splash
Of wind
On my face.
My love,
Though I cannot love less
Than I feel for you,
I must forget you.
I must leave you.
You have been
A handcuff,
I can no longer write.
You have been
A blindfold,
I can no longer see the light.
You have been
A shackle to my feet,
I cannot move on and be released.
Tonight, I will let
Myself be drowned
With tears of you
For the last time.
I will let
Myself be caged
Inside the cocoon
Of your painful memories
Because tomorrow,
I will fly.

I know deep inside, I am not the child my parents wanted.

I can tell by the way they look into my eyes, because theirs glaze over, and by the way they don't take anything I say too seriously.
I can tell by the way they ask me about my future, and when I say, "I'm not sure but," they lose interest in knowing.

I can tell when they read the newspaper and see all the successful honor students at my school, they sigh, because my name isn't printed in ink on the list.

I feel like when I talk, they don't really listen, because if they did, they would read between the lines and realize I wanted to **** myself a hundred times.

I feel like when I'm upset I can no longer show emotion, because my mother has called me lazy too many times, and my dad has shook his head once too many.

I feel like when I'm sitting on the couch when I get home from school, they are disgusted because I should be "doing something more productive". So I 'sometimes' feel like being comfortable in my own home anymore.

I feel like I have to hide away in my room, because when I'm around them we don't talk much anyways. (Except my Mom)

I feel like I'm just another tab on their bill, especially when all they talk about is how they're low on money and make it feel like it's my fault.

It's just, I think they wanted someone  more, someone better.
I think they wanted a smart kid, just like my brothers and sisters,with a great passion for life, who is nothing but happy, busy, talented, outgoing. They wanted someone who would for sure succeed more than they did in life, someone who could assure them assistance in their older years.

But  they  got  me,
the kid who has social anxieties,
the one who gets 'okay' grades,
the kid whose  sad  most of the time,
the kid who has depression,
the kid who has secretly attempted  suicide,
the kid whose just another kid,
not the kid whose  Nothing  like me...