make yourself a cup of coffee
eat your breakfast on bed
listen to your favorite song
go with the melody and dance along
give yourself some time
to rest, live, and laugh
oh loving yourself above all
is indeed the greatest love

You taught me how to hold a pen and turn my emotions into words like never before. How to create metaphors and play with words that I never did before we met.

You made it easy for me to write a poem by simply staring at the vast galaxy in your eyes and listening to your voice. I can visualize my love for you by simple putting it into words and utter those for you to hear my prose.

You turned me into what I am right now. An aspiring writer. A poetess wanna be. Someone who shed tears and used them as ink in every piece. Someone who bleeds metaphors from the deepest emotion that I feel.

But now, everything has changed.

You taught me how to break my favorite pen. How to shatter my papers into pieces, breaking all the poems I made and never try to bring them back.

You made it hard for me to write another piece. For simply staring at you makes me want to forget every stroke I made in those paper. Hearing your name breaks my heart into pieces that I can't even utter a words to defend myself.

You made me hate those poems and never dare to write again because it's you that I remember everytime I write a poem or even a single prose. You made me shed tears and use my pen to make myself bleed, leaving scars in my wrist.

You taught me how to write made me hate writing at the same time.

some days are extra hard
but i hope you try
to be extra kind to yourself, too

what is the poet's purpose
if it forgets how to write?
how can the poet continue to breathe
without words in his mind
poems out of reach

just like water
you wash away those tears
and i drown into you constantly

...but the actual problem is that
i still write about you
you are still the sun in the sky
shining brightly in the morning
and setting so beautifully at dawn
yours is still the deepness of the ocean
i want to explore and dive into
you are still my 11:11 wish
the daydream i always miss
you are still the metaphor in every piece—
you are still the metaphor in every piece

i used to promise
to a poet within
"i will write a book
promise you'll be happy
for sure you'll be amused!"
so i wrote
and i wrote
and i wrote
but slowly my words
started to die
poems are dead
now i am unhooked
i cannot write
like how i used to before
i know i am done
i am done
and i am done
the poet within
is now out of tune
out of tune