"Live your life" they said
Maybe one day I'll stop writing about death
Maybe one day I'll have my scars tattooed over so I wouldn't have to look at them with regret
Maybe one day I'll look into lining out my life with colors instead of shades of malice that I inflict on myself
That my life is not a big misadventure but rather a puzzle that I have yet to piece together
5, 10, 20 years from now, I'll wonder why I never celebrated my 18th birthday
I'll wonder why I never smiled at that one friend who said "hi"
I'll wonder why I never kissed my parents 'I love you' until our last goodbyes
I will think back and remember as I sit by a window, drinking coffee or smoking a cigarette,
Gazing into the backyard, wondering where time went, and why summer quickly turned into winter
I will listen to the house breathe, while my loved ones are in deep sleep
I will be old enough to know what life is all about and maybe I'll look back and not have a single hint of regret,
But chances are that will be unlikely to happen
26, 30, 38, maybe I'll be older or less
I hope I will stand in that room and appreciate the walls, the furniture and the growing pile of books
That my lungs will still function and my hands will still be able to write words and move
And most of all, for my heart to continue beating, to love a person who deserves no less
I will have come this far with my life sorted and my troubles dissolved
I was once young, I had a knife and a choice, and I will be glad that I did not **** myself

n.j.

We put together these words we think can suffice how much we feel about things

"I love you"
"You're beautiful"
"I miss you"
"I hate you"
"I don't ever want to see you again"

But what is that word? What is love? What does it mean? When we want to express words more than what they seem

It is not love when you look past and beyond that
It is not a word that can be found in a book, hidden in a shelf at the back of a library
It is not a combination of words nor letters put together
It is not a piece of paper filled with paragraphs back-to-back,
It is not a question of whether, who loves who most

It does not exist

It is not a lyrical embodiment
It is not ink
It is not printed
But it is here somewhere, tucked underneath our skin
It is a feeling, a tingle, a chill to the bone
It is an action expressed
It is art
It is me and you who are worth

But no matter how deep we dig
No matter how much we chase the sun and the moon
No matter how many offerings we think are enough to prove

Nothing will ever be enough to express the words we have for each other,
And me, for you

n.j.

He treasured every inch of her skin
As if he was responsible for putting together her body structure and curves
Every detail was well thought, a result of numerous hours of unsharpened pencils and sketches
He has done this before, maybe even to the point that every stroke became less and less meaningful
When he wasn't preoccupied, leisure consisted of admiring buildings, edifices and towers that touched clouds and reached skies
He contemplated and wondered if he would ever come up with a design, so great that it would represent perfection
During nights when he would close his eyes,
He imagined a bare lot with overgrown grass, enclosed with trees
He pictured the process of construction, men moving back and forth, drenched in sweat,
And heat that showered on them like hovering bees
He never knew what perfection looked like, no matter how many times he would lie in bed at night with closed eyes
But she came to him like an idea, an inspiration that walked through the door
Yet he did not recognize that perfection looked beautiful in lavender
Nor did he know that she loved soft rains and ice cream during winters
He did not acknowledge such existence until she tore down her walls for him
And she became his favorite sketch, a structure he would always keep building
An assembly of the most appealing interior, countless hallways and staircases
A concept that needed more explanation and could not be written, spoken or expressed as blueprints
She became his favorite design, and a treasure he valued way more than any of his work

He loved her.

n.j.

nothing is more satisfying than
accomplishing something just for yourself
not because you've had a long day
but because you know you deserve something
after a long time of suppressing yourself
nothing feels better than rewarding your own body
your own mind with authentic kindness
because you know its time to be loving you

We've succumbed
To the pandemic
Of awkward confusion;
Where the rabbit,
Not magician,
Is half the illusion.
We're topsy-turvy,
I'm getting sick:
We're highly toxic,
It's acute, not chronic,
We've set the cameras
On ego-centric.

My heart is a warm bed of Earth and all you ever do is to dig everything out of it.

As I was walking on my way home, I saw people laughing and chatting.
Some were in groups; others, in pairs. And like me, some walk alone.
I wonder, "What keeps them going?"
Then it hit me. What keeps me going? Is there really something, or someone that helps me to keep on going?
Coz as I look through everything; everyone, they have something behind them.
Well, I hope I find mine too.

Dreams of mountain streams
And washing trees in the wind.
Let me leave this world
And start anew again..

Off I set with not much to tote.
Getting lost among the trees,
The mind has little to quote.
But here and there it shall roam,
Looking deeply for a small forest home.

One morning I cracked my door
And let the wind come in.
It sang songs of freedom
And hope for mankind.
But all alone a small man cottage,
Chirping songs of a free bird
But no one to hear the rhyme..