Your eyes.
Ooh those eyes!
The gates to my soul
They melt my tough disguise
They reveal my lies
For I cannot lie to those eyes.
Those eyes.
They hypnotise
leave me paralysed
and small in size
Those eyes.
Oh when I look into those eyes
I am instantly stripped from my disguise
And my ego dies.
Ooh those eyes.
They **** me.

Oh that poem!
A plain masterpiece!
An eye for the blind!
Beyond what my limited words can describe!
Glory be to he who wrote this breathtaking beauty!
But I am left speechless and confused
Once I see the simple number of its likes and views
I guess that's what makes it so special
A diamond unseen
A hidden potential.
And he continues to write...
As if poetry was his only friend.
I guess he already accepted the fact that
*we cannot always trend

He is so mean to her for no reason.
She always wonders why...
Until one day,

she found him crying and asked what's wrong
boy: "nothing that you can help me with! leave me the hell alone!"
girl: "why do you hate me?"

boy: "I hate you because I can't have you"
girl: "why can't you have me?"
boy: "because I love you too much to accept you being with someone like me."

"17 bullets in his body"

I'll never forget
those words
the doctor had said
while my man was on his death bed

17 bullets
17.

And it was the 17th of March

On our 17th anniversary
And I heard those words
At 1:07 am

17 bullets
and we were both 17 when we first laid eyes on each other
that day when you came over to our house with my brother
and it was the 17th of March

17.

As I lay here I realize
death is not something I should despise
it is simply a fragment of our lives
no matter how much we venture and strive
work things out and compromise.


It should never come as a surprise
that one day...
death will look us straight in the eyes
with no regard to our mothers' cries
no care for our last goodbyes.


We begin to think of...
All those ungrateful sighs
those unworthy lies
those wasted cries
as our soul flies
and our blood dries
then, the body dies.


Now look around.
You are not dead
still above the ground.
Feel you're heart pound
and realise
*the beauty of that sound.

If I don't answer my phone,
Will you think I'm ignoring you?
Or will you judge only what is known,
and believe what I say to be true?

If I forget to send you an invite,
Will you sleep less at night?
Thinking: "I was right,
She is truly full of spite!"

If I say I need some space
Will you understand my pace?
I am not insensitive,
I am merely depressive.
Striving to be protective,
Without being oppressive.

My only hope is
That you give me the benefit of the doubt,
I am not your crisis,
nor am I your drought.