i have gazed through this window
for three and a half hours now
as if the reason why you left
is hidden somewhere behind the trees
and i worry about you, endlessly-
with a painfully heavy heart
that threatens to spill out on paper

i have wondered about you
since the sun first kissed me
good morning,
but i don't want to wonder anymore
(is it even love if you have to wonder?)

with a thump of bitter confusion,
i am strangled by my own questions
from a mind only cluttered
with thoughts of one person

i'll let the sun disappear
as the moon kisses me goodnight
and tonight will not be the last night
that i'll fall asleep with your face
engraved in my memory

i'll let the stars cover me
and envelope the scars you left
from the words that escaped your lips
i'll try to forget you tonight
and maybe tomorrow
i won't have to wonder anymore

it was sometime in april
when i discovered that your eyes
held galaxies and worlds
within a treacherous sea of green;
and that was when i knew
i was hopelessly lost
in the irises of your eyes
and you were lost
in mine

but now it's a frigid december day
and my heart still quivers
when i hear the sound of your name,
it's cold days like these
when i ponder upon the truth
i'm still lost in your eyes
but it's so pointless
and so lonely,
so tragic
because you've found your way out
and you're no longer lost in mine

right before i fall asleep
i crave a hand to hold
and phone calls ending in
"i love you more"

what a beautiful thought
waking up to a
"good morning, beautiful"
or daisies on my doorstep

he creates sunsets on my cheeks
and ignites a fire in my chest
with thoughts of what could be

i crave cheesy puns
and overused jokes
and being best friends
with the boy who captivates me

but i am undeniably afraid
to let him in, because
one day-
my doorstep will be bare,
with pale cheeks
and bitter stares
and i fear tearstained cheeks
and 4 AMs awake
with thoughts of what
had been

he was not a boy-
he was a song
but no one knew the words
and no one could sing along
(except for her)
he was not a boy,
he was the way
the ocean kissed
her sandy toes,
and he was what kept her warm
on cold winter nights,
even when a flannel quilt
and a cup of her favorite tea
could not

she was not a girl
she was a story-
filled with metaphors
and meanings no one understood
(except for him)
she was not a girl,
she was the way
the breath of winter
painted windows in december,
and she was what kept him warm
on cold winter nights,
even when the monotone hum
of a sad, old radiator
could not

you don't love me anymore
i can see it in your
lifeless eyes
and our hollow conversations

you don't love me anymore
i can tell, by the way
we talk in fading blue
and how our words don't echo
and sparks refuse to fly

you don't love me anymore
because the loved don't cry
and the love don't whisper
(why?)
you don't love me anymore
because the love
has seeped out of you,
and into her heart,

but not mine

he gazed at her
as if she was
a sunset,
and he felt
the universe
in the palm
of her hand

she gazed at him
as if galaxies
existed in his eyes,
and she felt complete
with his hand
holding hers

i can't write
or think
or breathe
as well as i used to
anymore

my veins are clogged
with unspoken words
and my heart feels numb
with mismatched thoughts
that refuse to escape me

and at two in the morning
i am still wide awake
stifling, within my bitter heart,
the courage-
to put them down on paper

you swallowed my words
inhaled the fragments
and the pieces of me-
you inhaled them,
and i want to be able
to breathe on my own,
to fall asleep
without the heavy weight
of my own terrible thoughts,

but you ran away without
taking them first

we were butterflies
and crimson cheeks
and blooming daffodils
but forever has shattered
and now we are
catching glimpses
unsaid words
and choosing
to walk away

i'm not searching for "just for fun,"
the puppy-love craved by children
who desire clammy hand-holding
and uncomfortable glances

i don't want "just because"
or a filler just for now
until someone with brighter eyes
and a genuine smile
decides to replace me

i don't want to be a second option
or to force smiles
or to try and impress
all for the sake of a title

i want not being able to fall asleep
even with the weight of a whole day's stress
resting upon my heavy eyelids
and i crave
not being able to breathe
because then, the empty spaces
and incomplete pieces
in my lungs
in my heart
in my brain
will be overflowing
with thoughts of you

i fear heights,
spiders,
public speaking,
and being lost

i fear hospitals,
darkness,
long term commitments,
and feeling alone

i am so afraid
of miniscule things
and i must admit,
the monsters under my bed
have escaped
and made their way
into my head,

but what i fear most
is that one day,
you'll be staring
at a girl with glimmering eyes
looking at her with
admiration
pretty thoughts
and love in your eyes

and all your fears
have escaped
because you will have found
the center of your universe
and i fear
that i'll just be
another expired star
in your sky of
useless memories

today it occurred to me
that i really don't know you at all

i do not know your favorite books
or what kind of music you listen to
on long car rides to the seaside,

and i wonder about
all the places you'd like to visit
and your favorite constellations
in the starry december skies

but i do know that you have emerald eyes
and you mumble hushed words to yourself
and you look wonderful in red
(and you wear it quite frequently)

there are still countless things
i'd like to discover,
and you are an unfinished jigsaw puzzle
(like myself)
and i keep pondering on the idea
that i am the missing piece

"i'm sorry,"
you muttered
with a solemn glance

but sorry does not make up for
tear-stained pillows,
3 AMs spent wide awake,
fluttering butterflies
that always led to
disappointment

it does not make up for
midnight anxiety,
conflicted thoughts,
the hopes that rose
only to fall

an abundance of stale apologies
do not make up for
the countless times i needed you,
only to be greeted by
a familiar sense of lonely

I want to waste Thursday nights with you
and nine-thirties
and Saturday mornings.
I want to scavenge through tiny bookstores with you
and read melancholy poems with you
and watch the rain fall like I did for you.
I want to watch scary films with you
and cover your eyes with my hands
and hide from the ghosts under blankets.
I want to spend winter days with you
and frolic in autumn leaves
and indulge in the springtime air.
I wanted to be with you forever
and call myself yours
and call you mine.
But we’re only granted the things we need, not want.
and I want you to love me
and I want you to miss me
But I need you to need me the way I need you.

one word
two syllables
a messy jumble of
seven sad letters
five consonants
two lonely vowels.

Perfect
was the girl
with long raven hair
and shimmering green eyes
who wiped away
mascara stains
and hid her wrists
under bulky sweaters
because she felt hate
towards the reflection
in the bathroom mirror.

Perfect
was the girl
who last smiled in May
starving herself from
her distant dreams,
her unreachable goals,
the air she breathed
too caught up in hopes
of someday becoming this

one word,
two syllables,
seven letters
five consonants
two vowels


and all because she believed she was not.

it is one thing to have
a pretty face, and another
to be beautiful

i don't want to seem
like i belong somewhere else,
the cover of a magazine,
or on some prestigious runway
i don't want to be
loved for the way
my hair shines under stage lights,
the length of my eyelashes

instead, i'd like to be beautiful
for the way that i love,
the sound of my laughter,
the way i spin words
into feelings
i want to feel utterly
and completely beautiful
for the way that i am,
for the way that i will be

i don't want to be just another
flawless face,
perfect to the core
i want to be drowning in imperfections
so that people can look around them
and despite all my scars, faults,
and flaws,
still find me to be
beautiful

i want to know you
at five in the morning
the sky still dim,
the world untouched
with your eyes shut tight
engrossed in a dream
i want to know you then

i want to know you
at eleven thirty AM
as you sip a cup of tea
(sweet, your favorite)
with your nose in a novel
(the kind you can't put down)
i want to know you then

i want to know you
at six in the evening
flipping through channels
your feet on the coffee table
with your tousled hair
(still incredibly flawless)
i want to know you then

i want to know you
at ten thirty at night
the sky lined with stars
like the freckles on your face
with a smile of exhaustion
and toothpaste kisses
i want to know you then

lurking impatiently in the crevices of your mind,
i nudge you and beg your soul to reminisce.
you are afraid of the ache i bring you,
but yet you crave the twinge.
i am but a burst of pure nostalgia,
an irreplaceable, bittersweet remembrance.
like a relentless ghost, i haunt you,
reminding you of your expired bygone days.
you desire only the blissful pieces of me,
too remorseful to revisit the hurt you once felt.
and i am both agonizing and delightful,
a menagerie of melancholy pain and
immense commotion.

i used to battle sadness like a war in my head,
but now i have learned to cherish my misery.
i always thought being sad meant infinite hours of despair,
but i never really believed that unhappiness could spark iridescent creativity.
i once loathed my incessant loneliness,
but now i indulge in the inspiration it holds within it.
if i could alter the ache of my past, i still would not, because
i would have never experienced how truly captivating sadness is.
i never realized that sorrow can be joyous, in its own twisted way,
but i might begin scavenging for the silver lining in every desolate rain cloud.
i can’t fully erase the toil accumulated from tragic times,
but i can use this hysteria to craft something quite lovely.
i won’t ever feel complete ecstasy, perhaps not.
but i might begin to heal my brittle heart.
i used to only think of sadness as an indestructible burden,
but now i possess a growing admiration towards it.

roses were not my thing
and somehow he already knew
from the very beginning,
because one September morning
as the sun arrived to greet me
“good morning”
so did he,
with an abundance of handpicked daisies
and a breathtaking “hello”
with that smile, seemingly genuine,
so believably true, like the daisies.

but he left the next month,
leaving me with a vase of shriveling sadness.

roses were not my thing
but somehow you never really knew
because one February morning
the morning sky blazing with a vibrant tangerine hue,
you arrived at my doorstep
with a bouquet of tired-looking roses
and i recall wondering why
so you insisted that they were
beautiful, like me.
but to me, they weren’t beautiful at all
just a cliché mess of mediocrity,
the furthest away from beautiful
and so was I.

but you never left my side,
and with time they grew out of their vase
                    and into my heart.

i distinctly remember
your admirable smile
and the serene look on your face
blushing in the warm summer air
and how that smile
seemed to embarrass the stars
and the overall brightness of it
humiliated the city lights.

i distinctly remember
the sound of your laughter
euphonic and melodious
ringing like joyous church bells
and how that laugh
put all symphonies to shame
and the overall resonance of it
mortified the musicality of this world.

i distinctly remember
your face in the midst of a crowd
staring back at me, a ghost
with a gaunt, pitiable look
and how that face
seemed as despairing as the ocean
and how the overall sight of it
stirred jealousy in the oppressive rainclouds

you fell in love with april
and the warm breezes within it
you fell in love with our small talk
and deep conversations
overflowing with continuous feeling

i fell in love with red
because that's what you always wore
and i fell in love with paper
because it was my bitter escape
from a tumultuous flame inside of me

you fell in love with my words,
my unintentional smiles
and never ending stories
you fell in love with bits and pieces
but not in love with me

There once lived a girl
Barely even three
Who wore childish, innocent smiles
And ran around freely.
She spent summer with her sister
Picking lilac flowers,
Rolling down grassy hills
Endless fun for hours.

There once lived a girl
Finally thirteen
Who wore gloss on her lips
And said things she didn’t mean.
She spent summer all alone
Never picking any flowers
Claiming she had better things to do
With her endless summer hours.

There once lived a girl
Sixteen, impossibly thin
Who painted scarlet on her wrists
Because she could never ever win.
She spent summer locked away
Bawling in her room for hours
And there was nothing in the world she wanted
More than lilac flowers.

There once was a girl
Who tried so hard in life
But she couldn’t bear to live
With her sugarcoated strife
And one day she just vanished
So her sister cried for hours
And upon her solemn grave
She laid withering lilac flowers.

life is beautiful, they say,
and sure enough, it is.
each ray of sunlight,
that kisses you awake
each smile exchanged,
so incomparably honest
each breath emitted,
a sure sign of existence
there’s no doubt
that life is beautiful.

life is beautiful, they say,
but you begin to question
whether it’s fiction or not
as you lay awake at 4 AM
with a tear-stained face
each breath you take,
seemingly meaningless
each second that goes by,
igniting your loneliness.
is life really beautiful then?

i hope you still remember
sitting by my side, silent as stone
and how even though the air was
perfectly still,
and even though no words were
uttered,
there was still an unvoiced sense
of tranquility
which floated harmoniously
above both of us,
perhaps it was just me, but at that
particular moment
we were united in a beautiful
mess of noiseless bliss
so still, so secretive
and i swore to myself
that silence was the most
fascinating creature

i hope you still remember
sitting by my side, silent as stone
with the air untroubled, and perfectly
still
and how even though it seemed better
quiet than blatant
and even though there were no words
spoken at all
there was still a deafening ache
which lurked over us like a hateful fog
perhaps it was just me, but at that
particular moment
we were divided by a tremendous wall
of shameful hurt
so still, so secretive
and i swore to myself
that silence was the most catastrophic
form of loneliness

I believe in the aptitude of creativity
the sudden, yet intense, surge of inspiration
the hidden blissful pieces of life
the satisfaction in pure simplicity
the endless, vast, human imagination
soaring dreams, passionate feelings, and the casual moments
that morph into fantasy.



But I don’t believe that inspiration can only be located in the happy moments we experience, without even digging for it.



I believe in forgiving, but not forgetting.
I believe in the beauty of amiable innocence.
I believe in finding immense creativity in the
mysterious, the meager, and the seemingly insignificant.



And I believe in jumping imagination barriers and escaping
this destructive and confined reality.

we have faded
like the denim overalls
that belong to the haggard farmer
once a sturdy, deep blue
now tattered with fatigue
color melting away as did time
below the sun's scorching breath

we have faded
like pencil in an antique diary
formerly confided in with dismal feelings
once an intriguing charcoal artistry
now a hodgepodge of insincere gray
the pain receding away as did time
beneath weary shelves of dust bunnies

we have faded
like the end of a film
with the screen darkening by each dreaded
millisecond
once a glowing, vivid sight
now a parcel of despondent credits
slowly vanishing until every speck of light
has dissolved into an unfortunate nothing

she claimed
she would much rather
feel hurt than to be numb
because at least
there was still a tugging distress
rather than bleak extinction,
and at least she was aware
that she was clearly still
alive

he claimed
he would much rather
feel numb than to be hurt
because at least
he couldn't feel the tribulation
tearing him to pieces from
within,
and at least he was not aware
that he was somehow
indiscriminately
dead

5 o’clock in the morning and I’m intoxicated by the thought of what could’ve been. I paint galaxies on my bedroom ceiling, desperately searching for the right words to let you know that my heart still sparked beautiful colors whenever I filled my mind with thoughts of you. Suddenly, it hits me like a strong gust of winter wind- that no matter how hard I wished for a sense of normality between us, things would never cease to change for the better. Too many sleepless nights, too many lonely sunsets have passed since that remorseful day. Too much time lost to recover the flame that had since been put out. I was numb to the core, trying to fix and mend something nearly irreparable that refused to die from my thoughts. I designed constellations on my walls, connecting them little-by-little each night, tricking myself into believing that there was still hope left, that someday our stars would align again. There was nothing, no one to confide into, and slowly the tiny sliver of sanity I still had left within me began to fade into an unfortunate nothing. Was it really gone? Our stories, our abundance of exchanged smiles, my collection of picture-perfect moments? Indeed, they were long gone, withering like the blossomed trees in the start of June. To me, those times were still so real, so picturesque, still engraved in my memory like a long lost yesterday. It was like a Tug of War, an innocent competition between two eager kids with their hearts set out to win. But after you were declared triumphant, you brushed yourself off, leaving me with nothing but the weight of a loss on my shoulders. 6 o’clock in the morning and I’m drowning in my own misery, trying to bury my sadness and my agonizing pain. But I couldn’t take my eyes off that bedroom ceiling, with a sudden realization that I couldn’t shake from my mind. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, as I wiped away tears, Maybe there’s still a little molecule of hope left somewhere in the world. The feeling soon escaped me and the night grew somber once more as I remembered that I was just a hopeless romantic swimming in a sea of her unattainable dreams. She was just in love with the idea of being in love, too tied down to reality to find the courage to let go. I had known it from the very beginning. He was gone, we were gone, and I was treading at rock bottom. .