The wall that seperates our home
Was as thick as the callouses on my fingers,
But I could hear every brush stroke
That he made on his canvas.

With every flick of his wrist,
a new image begins to build.
With every breathe that he took,
breaths of love and passion.

I can see in high quality definition
The looks on the spectator's faces,
As they admire your colors
On the wall beside the colors you once admired.

There are countless of things that the previous year has taught me. From how to travel to the city on my own to picking ears to whisper on. It introduced me to beautiful people, mesmerizing places, and hard fights. Confusing and nerve-racking moments which leads me to learn a few things that I shall carry with me to the years I will exist in.

1. It is okay to get bored of something you enjoyed for a long time. People change. My bones and skin continues to stretch and sometimes, some qualities & likes are left at the bottom of my feet. I can be completely different from who I was 5 days ago. Life never runs out of things to teach you minute by minute and you are not expected to always stay the same.

2. Never be afraid to meet new people. Whether they have a beautiful or horrible effect on you at the end of the day, you will be so glad you had them and continue to have them in your life.

3. I do not need validation and justification from others to know that I matter. The biggest love that I can receive is the love from myself. No one can ever understand me more than myself. I am a complex anatomy that only I can fully understand. I do not need a partner to carry me through life. I should carry myself. I know myself the best.

4. I am not an exception to being toxic. More often than not, I cannot see the effect that I make on other people. I can hurt others just as much as others hurt me. I learned that I should always be considerate of their feelings.

5. Coffee will never leave you alone. Through sleepless nights and buckets of tears, coffee has always felt like home in a cup. With every sip, I feel my body fall back into place and function properly again.

6. Love will come when it's time. I've always been impatient when it comes to love. I was always so envious of my friends who has sweet partners that would put a smile on their face. I wanted that, I wanted romance. And when infatuation came, I misunderstood it as romance & grabbed it fully. Then, it faded away and I was left wondering if I was that easy to get. True romance shouldn't make you feel bad about yourself. It will come and when it does, you will understand why the past was tragic.

7. He may or may not like me; either way, it doesn't matter. So I like this friend of mine and by the time I read this piece again, I probably don't like him anymore. He understood what you were, he just did. He found joy in discovering the comets and planets inside of me. I don't blame you, self, for falling in love with him.

8. Just write. When something fails, write it. When it prosper, write about it. I always had the fear that one day, I will lose my ability to write again. I am still unsure if any of these musings mean something to me but I hope it means something to others. I will always leave my poems without an meaning because it can vary from reader to reader. Whatever the poem made you feel, that's its meaning. To make you feel something.

There is no doubt the coming year can be worst or better than the previous one. There are so many things to learn about someday. That's how life is, you suffer then you learn. And it's never gonna stop teaching you. Seize the year, folks.

I have learned that I was not always right because all my life I told myself that I was unworthy and yesterday,  I overheard my friends talking about how I deserve the greatest things in life. I learned that it's not bad putting yourself in front of others. One day, I will live the imagination in my head today.  Sooner or later, someone will bring shivers down my spine and I will awaken the butterflies in their tummy. Someday, I will deserve someone. Someday, someone's going to love me more than I love them and they will give me back the things that I gave the undeserving in the past.

I told myself to write forever so that you will find every word that I've included in my poems about you in every place you'll go. For the past few months, the air around me lingered with nothing more but the memory and essence of you. It haunted me for so long & I don't think I could ever get rid of your essence completely. Every night I struggle with the hand of guilt that chokes me and the only way for relief is for me to admit vocally that everything that happened between us was all my fault. There were countless nights that the image of you runs tirelessly in my brain, keeping it awake. And just like the poison that you are, you release the dangerous chemical that makes me believe that I'm not tired yet. I struggled to get you off of my system, I struggled so hard that I found myself at the edge of the rooftop. The things that I wish I had said echos in these four walls, bouncing back and forth but unlike the normal echo, the volume increases the more it hits my ears. For days, I did nothing but destroy my body because I thought I wasn't beautiful enough for you. It's always my fault, isn't it? I guessed I charged up too much negativity in me that it radiated out of my skin.

I've grown a friendship with the moon and the stars from the countless nights I spent hating myself. I hope the night lingers in your daylight and I hope the sun never bother to shine your way. I hope love and romance hurts so bad that you'll spend the rest of your night drowning in the thought that you'll always feel cold for the rest of life. And if someone did wrap their arms around you at night, I hope they'll be gone the next time the moon rise. I hope my words gets plastered at every wall you'll set yours eye upon and I hope each line chokes you until the only way out is to verbally admit that you were also wrong. I hope the clouds will never be in your favor and even if they did, I hope the sun while shine so bright that you'll finally see your wrongs. I hope love walks away and slams the door.

I write these stuff so you stop listening to only yourself. I write these stuff so you hurt and you learn. This is your torture.

You make Death feel alive.

you're strumming my heartstrings like how angels do with their harps & i bet that it did hurt when you fell from heaven but that doesn't hurt as much when i fell for you

i've never wanted to be something that touches the human skin casually since the day i met you and i can see the universe in clear high-definition from your gray eyes, they remind me of the moon

Darling, what have you done to me? It seems as though 3 months ago I was writing about the pain of romance and bitterness. Then all of the sudden I was romanticizing brown eyes & cigarettes. Don't you know I hated the smell of smoke? My nasal cavity reacts badly to secondhand smoke but somehow, it doesn't when the smoke comes from you.

And all of the people are starting to say, "You look so happy with him" instead of asking, "Rough night?"

I haven't written anything sad for the past 2 months. I no longer sleep with a heavy heart. Is this what happy feels like?

Darling, what have you done to me?

I saw you at the grocery store today and you asked me if you still have my heart.



I said no.



But if you silence the world and if you stare deep into my eyes, you can hear my heart say the contrary.



It's sad that you do still have my heart. I never gave it to anyone else, I never took it back. It's sad that you are still in there. You will always be the center of my love. You never left. You still own every inch of my love.



And I hate it.

I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink but I still continue to write despite the broken lines because that's what I'm made for in the first place. Maybe the reason why I get hurt so much is that I fall in love with words a lot. I'm in love with people who is in love with literature. These poems and letters may not be made for you or because of you but their main purpose of being written is to move you. I want you to do something about that girl who works in your favorite book shop because I don't want you commiting the same regrets as I did. I want you to raise your voice and write about the oppression or the wage gap. I want you to write about something from the deepest part of your chest. I want you to write about something I cannot write about.

But some days, I feel nothing. I could write about being in love and about the color of their eyes but nowadays, their eyes look exactly the same. I could write about sadness but sadness itself is what hinders me to grab a pen. Now, I could write about happiness. But I rarely feel this way and when I feel this way, ******* I feel this way. I could gather these words about being filled with the color yellow but happiness will say that those words are not enough to fathom the euphoria I feel in me. Maybe one day, I could explore enough dictionaries to find the perfect words on what I have to say.

You don't have to be the greatest writer there is to make someone feel something through your words. Write about everything, every emotion, and every person who finds their way to your heart. When you can't write anymore, get outside and get your heart broken. Go outside and experience an experience that you never thought you would experience. Soon enough, you will write the words you never thought you would ever write. Don't hold anything other than offensive and oppressive thoughts back. Let the poetry run through your veins and drip down your fingertips. Write, write, and write until you can't write anymore. When you can't write anymore, seek a perhaps to write about then write, write, and write until you can't anymore. Even when the poem is below my satisfaction, I continue to share it anyway because being stoic and still would lead me to madness.

I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink and even though my lines are broken and unappealing, I continue to write anyway and because that is what I am made for in the first place.

your lips
weren't as soft as a flower's petal

your eyes
weren't the color of the sky

your fingertips
were hills of rocks & dry skin patches

but still
flowers bloom at each step you took

i love you so much,
i don't know what to do

you belong to you.
nothing fits better
in between your fingers
than your own

fall deeply in love with yourself.
every inch of your body
is painted perfectly
to represent a masterpiece that is you

your body is a temple
built only for those
who'll look at you
as if you are the whole universe

lovers may pass
and chances may knock
but the cells that compose you
aren't ready to share you yet

different hands may grasp this skin
and various fingers may hold this heart
every meter of my flesh
will always belong deeply to me

you are yours,
i am mine
the key to our heart
is placed at our own hands.

You are not my world, you are not my everything. You shouldn't be my world, you should never be my everything. But it's the way you make me feel like I was the brightest star in your whole galaxy. How you became the harmony to every song I have ever listened. It's the way I looked directly in your eyes and suddenly, heaven & hell was at peace and the stars have aligned. It's the way you made me feel like everything was alright.

You were a shining masterpiece until the way you disguised as a diamond that cut me open and left me bleeding a river. It's the way you tore down my walls then lit it on fire. It's the way you bury a dagger below my back. It's the way you poison me with your sharp lies. It's the way you scribbled all over me, which might seem very pretty, but darling, the ink killed me.

It will hurt when I look at you, it will hurt when I don't. And I'm here to tell you right now, to give you permission to **use me. Use every bit of my red heart. Drain me from all of my colors and being. Paint me black. Kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the jaw. Hold my hand as you stab me in the stomach. Kiss my lips as you pull the trigger through my head. Rip open my chest. Take my heart. You don't have to stitch me back. Hold my pumping muscle. I'm sorry if my blood would ever stain your high-end shoes. But I'm asking you to let me enter oblivion in your arms. For I would rather die a painful death with you, than live seeing you love anyone else.