A knock
I hear
And run
To the door,
Pull it open
But fail
To find you
You are not
There
I know,
I have looked
To my left
And right
Again and again

The hollow pain
Of disappointment
Is all I will have
For lunch today
And maybe tomorrow
And forever.

they are all growing old
old and apart.
none of them truly excited
about anything at all
and as they stand close,
shoulders touching,
you hear them whisper,
dewy-eyed:
happiness is not a goal.
you nod
and stifle a giggle.
they're all the same
all, winners in this game

Oh no,
no, no, no, no, no!
I don't think of you like that at all.

Not during day's tiresome hours between odd jobs, even times
Not at nights when I lay down to sleep or when sleep is far away,
I do better jobs
Like.... like. anything.
I don't see your face among crowds, don't miss you when I'm between people
Don't hear your laughter
Don't find myself shattering
or struggling
to run away
I don't, don't still see your initials on the screen of my phone, shining
Don't visualize getting a message from you, oh, never
I don't go about hoping we could get out of it and be Okay,
I don't keep saying I believe in "good" byes. And I am not sad.
And I never lie.

I am

with the thought
of you.

INDIFFERENT
you are
with the reality
that is me. A girl, in love
yes, so?

"Verily, with every hardship
comes ease."
And a new day just waits

and night leaves,
and dark fades,
and God sees.

I know what hell is like. And it is burning me.

It's so hard to put your faith on someone when it just doesn't hit you
Or simply believe in their ever so charming words
Because what else does a lie look like if not pretty?

They could be laughing in their hearts as they softly stab you in the back, without you realizing
Crack you'll break, little girl, you'll break so much

You
who inspire poetry through me with your distance
You
who tease me into pain
so much so that I
finally write this.

A cry for help
Sometimes sounds like,
"Hey! How was your day? Tell me everything."
But I am not genuinely concerned about the buffets you ate
Or the guy who complimented you while you were both at the parking lot - not that I mind hearing about your purple dress and his dreamy, deep voice - for a fifth, sixth, eighth time
Not that I mind anything. I am more than fine
Knowing about your old aunt's hellick habit of interfering in your personal life
Her probing questions and your oh so smart turndowns
"That would teach her!" Of course,
I don't mind, I don't mind
As long as it fills my silence
As long as it shuts the madman pinning needles in my mind
Tell me how your day was.

It's not much, right?
I only can't share this song with you that you really ought to listen,
and can't tell anyone about my dreams anymore.

she says it's a sin that I still check on you
I tell her it's not like that, I don't feel it anymore
it's Karma I am waiting for, you see, I want to know how bad
it hurts him in the end.
she believes me. "I'll give you a free pass then", she laughs
And I wonder how I could cut you from myself forever

The frequent phrases bubbling from your mouth,
The sudden jolt that springs you out of bed at midnight,
The desperate attempt to set things right,
The thoughts, disappointments, the unforgiving fright.

I miss you. I am not thinking of you.
It's not at all painful for me to think of you
So much.

We were laughing cuz we thought we were okay
Until we couldn't laugh any longer
And falling to our knees,
We Cried
Without ever getting to stand again.

I am afraid
to ask you
if you missed me
(or not...?)

Because last time
you asked me
I didn't tell-

though I did.
and I do!

But I could not make myself
show you
that I have nothing else to offer.

-Just a heart that beats in another sphere,
seas apart.-
and no promises.
and no symphonies, poetries, realities.
no dreams.

I have no dreams to give you.

you heard one of them give an answer to which everyone was applauding
so you quietly put your paper back in your pocket
and sat down, your previous energy dissipating into yet another nothing.
your face devoid of its real smile, because now in place of it
sat a plastered curve. a curve that couldn't quite reach the end
of your eyes.
Your eyes which murmured soft words to the pillow later at night.

Today I have that paper in my hands and I find myself helpless
against lost potential and lost time.
I can't even fight that.
I also can't fight the times you just let others take credit for your gifts to the world.

I also can't fight these tears that come to the verge
to never spill
like you never stood
for yourself or me.

One day you will see him walking down the road
a hand in the pocket of his jeans, a Rolex on the other
humming to himself strange tunes of yesteryear
and as his phone would beep, he would fish it out to see...

You will see him walking down the road
and you will want to go. You know he will stop in his tracks
and his eyes would sparkle with surprise (pleasant or not, you won't know.)
And you will put on a brave show
standing opposite to him, smiling, you will ask: hey, how have you been?
and you will notice how a small, sweet smile will spread across his face,
as if to say: oh, I recognize you.
And just that. I recognize you. And not I love you
Not I have loved you, not I remember how you loved me, too.

Which is why you won't go.

Because him recognizing you won't be enough, ever
without him recognizing what you went through after you said it
without him recognizing how you couldn't live after you said it
without him recognizing why you couldn't do anything but that,
*for him.

I know you don't check on me
Or think of me
Nor miss me like I do you.
But I also know that the image
Of what you know of me
Will cross your mind
With each lyric of our favorite songs
Whenever you hear them
And Always.

I also know that
Each time the name
Of my land will be taken
It will be me you will immediately think of.

But right now, at 2 a.m., I lay wondering if
This thought will bring you a pang of pain or will it just
Fleet away in a moment's moment?

Will you stop and pay homage to the miseries of fate and distances?

how much time until it's fine?

I don't think I like you. But you are still number one
On my browser history.
And number one whenever I want to share about something close to me
But you are not
Close to me.

criss cross criss
goes the pencil nib
smothered page cries

Maybe dying would've been easier if I had forgotten you.

how do i remove you from my system
whom do i share this feeling with
this deep, hollow, ******* freak of a feeling
how do i tell anyone im "sad"
im not sad.
it's all your fault.

can someone just come and hold the shaking leaf
tuck it safely in a glass bottle
and without closing on with the cork
let it breathe, too?

I want to write so much so much so much
but my fingers and my heart
do not allow me
and my mind is so caught up
trapped
like an idiot
in your scent
ew.

I know that because I found her lost;
searching for you...
In places you had gone,
poems you had read,
artworks you admired,
people you once met,
and music you listened to.
She looks for you, in your world
and in her world, and in her dreams.

You are beautiful.
Beautiful and fragile. It's so easy to break you!
Since you cannot stop loving,
and not stop trusting,
and not stop trusting and loving one who actually
does not.
You fear and you pray, but you just let them leave
and then you stare
at the  
v        
   o          
                  i
              d
in your heart,
hoping it to fill and heal
by itself.

that rain which comes
after every dark storm
to wash away the grey,
as you always like to say

i have been waiting for it now
since ages. of pain, brokenness,
and loneliness.
(come take me away)

You are there in every poem
I see you in my dreams
You are there in all them stories
I read your texts on repeat

When I see a place pleasant
I wish you by my side
When I look at them happy people
I imagine if it were us

I am a planet, you are a galaxy
You surround me so fully

Baby yes I do miss you
Truth is it's impossible not to!

My Facebook screen knows how many times I write and erase your name,
my search seems endless and also pathetic.
I know where you are: far from me.
I know what we have become: not us.

I am not over you yet.
So I'll keep looking
for that one last clue;
an ultimate goodbye;
with or without wanting to.

It was you. It always was you.
In all my poems, all my yearnings
Every dream, every cry-rising-at-two-in-the-night
You were my weakness.
A negative impact.

This sadness that is bone-deep
This sadness that makes me want to shred my skin and disappear
Into my veins, as blood.

you don't see me.
it's as if I am hidden from you from behind a shroud
of distances, moments of past and deeper.
it's heavy in its mass I'd say because it keeps us far
it's thin and light in its appearance because it seems like there's nothing in-between
but we know
we see that we cannot see
we feel that we cannot feel anymore.

I'm glad it's not April now
But do people really wait until then to make fool?

I'll forget you, right? It can't be that bad, I can't be in that mess again, can I?
It was wed mud I had found myself in, and I hadn't fully recovered from the scars
I can't be in for another damage, not a longer one, not this misery, not
the memory of you.

And You... you were the same.
Abuser. Destroyer.
The One Who Leaves.

Maybe you will come back and say hi once again
Maybe we will start over and never let go.

I could still show the pieces of your then-polluting, now-rotten heart, and prove to the world it was not I who was mistaken. I can also present myself as an evidence — a heap of mess, covering blisters caused by the burst of these emotions that never wait too long to spill. Ah, of course because your name still holds magic.

It isn't fair what becomes of us people when someone leaves.
It isn't fair how someone can have control over switching our mood on and off based on nothing we can get explanations for. When you don't give them the power and they still have it-- that's the root of this misery.

I am in a phase that is called "not fit for talking with people".
Because I literally find it so hard, it's almost like some tragedy has enveloped my entire being, taken away my skill for wordy conversations.
I can't write. There's no magic in my talks.
I can't share. Not even the most random of things
I fear coming out too much. I have become someone I cannot recognize myself
I push people away and feel bad about being scared
I don't love it. There's nothing romantic about messes.
However, I do believe in healing and I have tried for it.
I just hope it happens sooner because I....can't

I own these pieces
and I know you cannot put them back together.

There are times when you just have to stop caring. You have to. And it's the most toughest, most painfully challenging task. To stop caring when all you want to do is go back and walk around that harmed skin, make a ******* mausoleum of your wounds. For a person like you, a person who already feels too much and cannot do NOTHING about it, it is hard, of course it is hard. All those pseudo, glitter-guaranteed quotes lose their meaning right in front of your eyes -- you extend your arm but no bird sits on it, you cannot in your ******* life reach for a silver lining. It's too FAR.
You don't want to stop caring because you are secretly fond of the warmth of that now-filling-now-healing wound. You don't want to heal but you do. You stop caring.

The truth is
We can't feel normal until we get what we want.
Compensation is a lie we tell ourselves and around.

Me missing you everyday:
Fruitless.
Me thinking of you, yearning for you everyday:
Fruitless.
Me praying, wishing, asking~
Upon stars, wilted leaves, beads:
Fruitless.
Why is it then that I still can't stop?
Why is it still
That your memory won't fade?
Why would I do this to myself,
And why won't you understand?

Listening to your favorite music
thinking how you'd liked it,
my pen writes the way you had liked
to read,
while my mind questions just this:
where do I remain?

you lied to me about your feelings
you thought it was easy for everyone like it's easy for you but
it wasn't.
that's a real life you played here with and you think that's okay
it isn't.

Stop making me miss you this much.

We girls are idiots. Attention is our drug;
You could be killing us slowly and we will accept to die
As soon as you leave.