I know how painful it is to not know if the one you care for would ever return
I promised these words I thought I could keep and sealed each with a future we both thought we could forsee
I shed tears and you offered your shoulder despite the distance that laid in between
Every breath was beautiful, every emotion was genuine and never a disarray of words
Every night was an ending and every wake of mornings had their beginnings, we both knew we would be present in each one of them

At least that's what I thought

We are a mess, shambles of living flesh yet you and I served as each other's comfort for times of distress
Sometimes words need not be said for all you had to do was to pick me up with your heavy hands and envelop me in your arms, you were my blanket
But I was a deluge of restraint who chose to have her mouth sewn by demons which tempt me to repress
You welcomed me into your mind of aesthetically aligned scenarios and tragic memories
I was stepping into your life and you showered me with gifts of assurance, and it was terrifying
I didn't know how to respond to these reciprocating feelings
But I knew that I loved every minute of it

Days that were born grew older and faster than we're told and I was a helpless victim and witness to the hours of conversations that developed into tedious virtual words
I plead guilty for keeping my silence as I watched you mouth out poetry and wisdom
It was burdening to keep coming back so I left you waiting for uncertainty
You are the soldier at war and I am the wife that grew tired and deprived
I am the selfish individual that seeks for a refreshing start while you try to win me battles I choose to fight on my own
I was blinded and kept wanting for more but what you gave me surpassed the limits of overflowing
I am the fool, not you and each night the demons mock me names on top of one another
They have been growing ever since I departed from your mending surfaces
I tried to keep my distance, but it didn't work
I had already stitched up my hands with yours, and I tore away our body parts the day I didn't say goodbye
I spit out crimson and inhale regret, every day and night

And I know it would be easier to move on if you found out I was dead instead of accepting the reality to which I promised
But my mouth turned out to be a liar so I closed my heart and left
And I am profoundly sorry for saying those three words, but know that I meant what I said

n.j.

Yet again, here I am, overthinking things that I shouldn't but it's hard to avoid not doing  so when you're waiting for a huge change to happen.

My life is dull. Routines on top of one another. Daily conversations that ebb into nothingness and complete irrelevance, sometimes I forget what we even talked about.

The spaces in my head are occupied with peculiarity and distress and I am often dressed in a color that makes people presume that I am suicidal.

I have been in love, but I was never the lover who received genuineness from another. I was always the giver, emptying and deflating the lungs trapped in my rib cages. I released the life out of me for that person who considered me a girl and a friend, not the words put together.

The only time I am understood is when I sit behind a screen, mouthing out the lyrics while my eyes blink and speak. I drown away the letters on the keyboard and tower over them, replacing each with watery words.

Every evening, my breath paces back and forth the four corners of my room. Screen too bright to see what's around, and I wait in anticipation for the roof to collapse and surround me with its rubble.

Often times I wonder if my conversations will ever consist of importance. Whether my words will reach another person, instead of bouncing back to me, cutting through the skin and past my bones.

When will I ever empty out my lungs of oxygen?
When will I ever replace it with something of significance and worth keeping?

n.j.

She sang herself to sleep every now and then
As the tears trickled down her tiny face
During those nights, no one heard except for the pillow case positioned under her head
And the mattress served as a barrier for the demons that lived beneath her bed
As the sun buries itself into the sea,
Its flames die out and so does she
Nights are when she crosses out the days left on her beating skin
Dawns are when she peels off dry scars and have her cuts covered in bandages
Solitary lullabies are what keep her sane
But the words leave the mouth of a battered child yearning for the company of another,
But she is all that will remain

n.j.

I would be lying if I told you that I am never bothered by the way you perceive the world. As a matter of fact, I am sick and tired of wanting to know what you're like with depression out of the picture. But if I were to repaint and reconstruct every feature of this portrait, I will see things as partial representations. You are incomplete without it. It has come to a point where it defines you completely. I can't even remember the last time you smiled and meant it or the last time you were genuinely happy.  
You've come to master getting used to being ignored, maybe not entirely but you are this book and in comparison to the many others, you are too complicated to be worth their time. They solely focus on other things that do not involve you, so you're left on your own to decipher your passages and you will remain as an enigma to them.
I promised you that by the time you reach this age, you would be too busy worrying about college and other things like if your boyfriend or girlfriend prefers your old hair over your new haircut, or if the girl that you like feels the same way, or if that guy in your class smiled at you because he thought it was finally time to make a move.
And now you've reached that age and you are worrying about college, but not over those other things.
5 years ago you wanted to die, and with each year that passed that desire grew into a shadow that always lingered behind you. Now it overshadows your actions and you're too busy wondering and worrying why no one has held your hand and looked at you the way you wanted someone to.
You're too busy trying to keep your watch from sliding down your wrists, too busy hiding the lines that overlapped on your skin. Sometimes you wonder if it's time to **** what was growing within instead of watching your outsides lessen to thin sheets, and yet you don't want to bother your best friends about things like this.
It's burdening, a load too heavy to lift, so you try practicing by doing all the carrying by yourself. So far you've managed, just a couple of scars and lashes, defined bones, suicidal thoughts and cuts too deep to mend. So far you haven't killed yourself, no, not yet but I hope you keep yourself together until someone sees the potential and beauty that you always thought were absent in you.
I hope one day they fill the spaces of your thoughts with contentment and happiness that you deserve because we are put into this earth to grow old with another.
This is the closest to heaven that you'll get, whether or not you believe that death is what ends a person's existence. It's just a shame to see that you think the life that was given to you is a way of wasting away, that it is a state of mind and everything you feel is not temporary.
I hope you've come to realize that it's okay not to fit in, that surely things will pass and you'll find the hand that fits perfectly. But never pass away too soon and early.
Never give into them, never let them take over, never let them make you do things that can hurt, because death is the only relief I wouldn't want you to have.

n.j.

She had a heartbeat that raced and chased cars
She was never after anyone and had no one in particular
She was like a reserved box, labeled fragile
Enclosed in a bundle, like a new born infant
"Caution" was something she didn't come with
She was not a beforehand preparation
She was a victim of beings, demons is what you call them
And they were harvesting within her
The only thing she had to lose was the life that was given to her
Her possessions were minimal,
Not enough to surpass the numbers on her fingers
Body parts and a beating heart,
Skin and bones, an exterior soon to rot to dust
And the one thing she craved for was the strength
To get past the barriers of her heart
She was a body bag in the making,
An unwritten obituary, a nameless face on a Monday morning's newspaper
She was a roled up article next to a cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes
The only recognition she would ever get is the folded edge,
A mug's wet mark of caffeine, the ashes of a finished stick
And unwanted condolences
She was the closest you could get to non-existence
Flesh and shivering bones connected
Lungs with smoke that filled up the spaces
Breathing like a clenching fist
And each time they deflate into a sheet of tissue
She lets out a a dying breath of relief

n.j.

it's become a habit of mine
to count the number of sticks i consume
but for each day that passes, each time
i lose track of the moments i can't refuse
i do realize what i'm getting myself into
i do understand the risks i choose
ironically whenever i'm on a break
a cigarette is what helps me breathe
and the longer i am without it, i'll crave
and its absence will make my lungs bleed

n.j.

I don't believe in the words you say
No matter how hard I try to force myself
I always fall in between restraint
Your words will always be a contruction of lies
Even if they were built on how you believe things will be
How you forsee you and me but I,
I will always hide behind my doubt
I will always get used to the feeling of people leaving
It's kind of sad to know that the only love I have ever known
Is the love I always offered
Receiving nothing in return
So I'm sorry if I find everything hard to believe
Even if they are just words on screen
There is only one thing I want you to believe
That I know how much effort and emotion you put into them
But it's just that I feel that those words
Are never meant for me

n.j.

loneliness is my best friend
so far, she's the only one who has stuck for so long
while the others up and left

n.j.

i wish i could tell myself that everything's going to be alright but i am never in control of everything i know and i do not hold the future, i simply know what is, not what will be.
what i hold is the capacity to off myself and to unscrew what is whole and complete. i can build a stronger version of who i am, yet i am given this choice to slowly deteriorate the only things i have. i can be a target of elimination and a person who can be a subject of improvement.
so many things i can change and the actions are literally at the brink of my own finger tips. so many choices for betterment, but i choose to waste away.
when numb, i choose to crack my exterior, to bruise each of my layers until i see colors.
when in pain, i choose to thicken my skin, until i don't feel the trickle of tears.
when in between breaking down and forcing a smile, i choose to fill my lungs with cancer, i love the taste of bitter and lighted cigarettes.

life is merely a matter of choice. and i was given numerous choices of whether or not i dragged a keen object across my skin, whether i shook my head to a cigarette, or plunged my fist into a concrete wall.

if the beating of our hearts were given to us as a choice, and if we were given the capability to hold and refrain it from bleeding anymore than it should, then i would have killed myself a long time ago. and that thought alone terrifies me the most.

n.j.

Sunday, August 23, 2015 9:15AM

Today I left with my bags unpacked.
My room was a display of clutter, just like the thoughts in my head,
And the mess I refused to sweep under my bed.
I apologize for having to leave at such short notice,
For not informing you and for departing as the dishes towered,
And as the chores multiplied into a list made for one to get rid of.
I made sure that I would keep things that I saw as they were,
Maybe somehow you would remember me by the mess and what occurred.
That I did not have everything figured out, that I was still your little girl.
To the friends I talked, the best friends I poured my heart out,
And to the people who walked, passed me as I cloaked my thoughts,
I'm sorry for leaving you hanging, for not explaining and for not answering,
For not picking up the phone and replying to text messages.
By now, I guess you should be used to it,
That I have been practicing this magic trick where I disappear.
Maybe tonight, I will walk down this road,
And actually feel my shoulders move with ease.
My fingers will not curl from carrying the heavy load, not anymore,
And my soles will feel the warmth of the asphalt concrete,
Instead of the tiles where my slits and scars were formed.
I will be away for awhile, let's say it was a trip, unannounced,
And I was not able to prepare beforehand.
I am just following where they are taking me,
Whether it's in another city, country or a place of free.
Just remember that, what will be, will be.
Whether or not I will return from this journey.

n.j.

I am not a sealed container that has not been purchased
I cannot be bought with paper and stacks of bills, I am not what you get out of currency
Shuffle me in between categories, I am only a human being
I am not replaceable, despite my claim for it
I am not a pleasure box, I am not toys, I am not an object
You cannot talk me out of my resistance
If my doors are locked, you cannot welcome yourself inside, forced entry is what they call it
You are compelled by urges I do not want to satisfy,
When all I want is a conversation, but filth is all that roams your mind
Your apologies are sorry's that emerge into a sea of forgotten,
And my feelings keep towering over my guard that was built for protection and fighting
But tell me this, if I said "no", then why are we still talking?

n.j.

I am in between the realms of death and living
I have grown to accept the magnificence of the afterlife and what lies along that path
I romanticize about my flesh being eaten and my skin being burnt
And I dream of a life worth living, trips I wish I could document and capture with my vision
I plan to store towers of written events, and the ink will be the blood released from the slits of my wrists
And I hope I will not run out of ink before my feet land on the concrete and the soil I will soon to be
I aim to breathe a life of expectancy and my goal is to become the earth and the waters that serve as coverage
I want to be thought of as I am still living, and I want to be remembered as I enter into deep slumber of a casket that bears such aesthetic
For that, I like to believe that we are all works of art
We are walking and breathing future statues, but in death we will ebb into the dirt
As of now, our ribs are the servants, bones that are built to cage valuable possessions
So let us continue to breathe and live, and for the remaining years, let us anticipate for what comes after
But right now, you and I are alive, and that's all that matters

n.j.

baggy shirts and folded sleeves
holding hands and acid washed jeans
from clean to stained clothing
we watched yesterday's crooked teeth
hide behind grown smiles from each other's lips, and for once, our futures seemed promising
our skin was pure yet our insides were battered
but bandages and plaster cast arms were just shells and they never mattered
we are both our own places
it's our choice where we choose to stand
and our faces are merely masks and disposable skin and emotions
we let our hearts do the talking, the questioning and the loving
this is what we were made for
not to be thrown around and ripped of our own exterior, but to be planted on the ground with our heads facing the clouds
and our wrists stretching out along with our fingers, grabbing all the opportunities and experiences

we are not carousels of repetition
we are layers of unwritten episodes
we are human beings

n.j.

The other day I was offered a cigarette and I simply shook my head.
I watched my friends light theirs between chapped lips, with a piece of menthol candy wrapped in plastic on their other hand.
With their wrists bent and their mouths open, I observed them inhale and exhale cancer, as I welcomed it into my nostrils.
I refused because I despised the idea of being the center of attention and I recall the vendor looking at me with her wrinkled forehead, wondering if I would agree to my "first" cigarette. And I didn't.
Yet in return I felt eyes looking at me, speaking to me, saying things like "That was uncool of"
I remember immensely focusing on the ashes that departed from the sticks and staring at them as they crashed into the muddy waters.
Every flick and drag was a subtraction of the overall years planned ahead for them. A part of me wished I could be in their shoes,
Because they were a step ahead of me, dragging them closer to their deathbeds.
Frankly, I thought of dying way more than any of them.
I am the one who is supposed to be nicotine infused, I should be the one composed of soon-to-be cancer cells and packs of cigarettes for future use.
Yet I stood there, slowly becoming a victim and a product of their secondhand smoke and abuse.

n.j.

I'm that girl
That you don't look at more than twice
Maybe that once was a glance and that twice made you want to look away
I'm that girl who would rather stare at the empty spaces of corners at parties, instead of reaching out for a handshake with my name and number, sequences written on my palm.
I am every fiber of mistake, at least that's what I believe
I do not have the perfect smile and teeth, but I bite and grit when I'm nervous or overwhelmed with anxiety
I am pieces, born into a world I was meant to fit in, but it seems all I'm capable of doing is falling beneath cracks that are not puzzles or made for fitting

I am dismantled

I am that girl who will never find another hand to hold
I am a locked door, without a key, the only way I'll ever let you in is if you break down my walls and doors
I am a treasure chest, absent of gold and jewelry
I am an overdose away, a figure in front of a racing train

I am that girl, who will never find her place

n.j.

My idea of a party is having sand in my hair while I smell of burnt wood and midnight barbecue
Music will be the waves that crash and return and messy chords on an acoustic guitar
And I will remember when we both wished that we could go on road trips on hours like this,
And how eventually time ran short for us, so we're finally here
I want to get drunk on the moonlight while I sip on yesterday's memories
I want to talk about the good times
I will fall asleep enveloped in nature's arms and dance while the stars twinkle high above

My idea of a party are late night drives and stops at gasoline stations at unearthly hours,
Conversations that result to slurred words and cackling with the windows rolled down,
Romanticizing over the architecture of rotting wood and crumbling concrete
Books and printed words under a flashlight

My idea of a party are rolled sleeves and roadtrips away from every soul and every touch of skin,
Away from the world, except yours I will never grow tired of

n.j.

My mouth is empty
And yet I chew and chew
Biting my lips until they bleed
Canines scratching at the inner walls
Along with my lower teeth
I can't remember the last time I ate
Everything's bland, no matter how delicious
And the food has lost its taste
I have grown hungry and tired of my own mistakes
I crave for the past to be buried
And for the future to unravel
Instead of digesting in self-hate
Yet here I am, wasting my life away

n.j.

When I was younger I thought it would take forever to reach the age as many as the fingers of my hands
But the next thing I knew, I was counting the number of figs I ate for the day, gave food to stray cats, chased the moon and wondered if my flashlight would ever reach the night skies
But then I realized I had toes and started counting again until I had 2 left
I discovered that the moon was farther into the sky and beyond reach
I flew across the globe and started living a life I did not forsee,
And I still wonder if those stray cats are ever fed properly or if they are given the love that they need
I found out that flashlights are used for the dark to brighten up a path unseen,
And not to be wasted on the infinite sky with bright stars that don't need light to be perceived

I am older, a little bit wiser, a whole lot more shy but heart warmer than ever, yet I will never stop gazing at the night sky and counting my toes and fingers, wondering if I could ever turn back time

n.j.

"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.

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.

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.

it's eating me away
clawing at my walls and corridors i built up to keep my feelings safe
i'll be their last meal for the night
and when dawn comes i'll be remains,
blood and bones ready to ignite

n.j.

Late night drives while seated at the backseat
I observe my dad and his heavy hands balancing the steering wheel
Even though with half closed eyes I can feel his drowsiness
A cap resides on his head and his fingers are too huge for his wedding ring
And I wonder if mom is wearing hers,
Or if it’s placed in some inner pocket of her purse
Her unsteady head accompanied with light snores
Her reflection an image, almost an apparition on the window
And the vast blackness that comes along with it
I remember smiling as I drift off to sleep
The humming of the engine circulating the air,
Creating an ambience as I hug my knees
I look at my brother one last time
Faint beats escape his headset plugged into an mp3 player
I jokingly nudge at his shoulder
And a smile curls up the corners of his lips
I recall feeling content as I gaze out
Ahead were the dim city lights and the superior night surrounding unseen stars

I fell in love with every moment of it

n.j.

Sitting behind a computer screen
Trying not to succumb to the temptations of self-loathing
Media has become the cause of my downfall
And the primary causation of self infliction
For months and years I thought and believed
That I was fine, that I was okay
But the slightest contemplation of death
Still brought me relief
I find my fingers running through the keys and letters
Scrolling past every page and article
The demons feed on the lack of confidence
The low self-esteem
And I, the degraded human being
I still set a goal for non-existence
A perfection too impossible to achieve
Yet I know that I’ll always be another face in the crowd
Another flame that’s about to die out
Another girl with too many scars,
Another girl bound to fall apart

n.j.

5:06 AM

5 in the morning and still tucked in bed
except the blanket isn't in place, my legs and toes are exposed, giving such fabric an insignificant purpose
i feel the faint air brushing against my thighs and ankles
yet my hands are unsure on what to do next, whether i should engage into pleasure or another paragraph of endless admiration
i think of him
i think of her
and all my senses drown out except for the fan propelling air toward me
everything else is unheard of,
the itch between my legs ignored, the aggravating temptation of relapse slowly dying out
like the body waiting for an image or a representation, an embodiment of perfection, and how my words are piling up to become of redundancy
i am the fire of a candle, soon to become its demise and leftover wax
and all i can picture is how perfect his skin is, and how beautiful she is
as the sun deliberately rises to its peek and emits pale blue through the curtains
and here i am wishing that i could have someone who can whisper me to sleep once again
but i am lonely and my bed is empty
another morning and night wasted

n.j.

I like to believe that I will live throughout every single one of my chapters, written or have yet to be written. But I will forever be scared of the reality that maybe, somewhere, at some point; I will run out of ink and inspiration for a chapter. I’m scared that I may never make it to the end of the last paragraph, the last sentence or the last word.

I hope there will come a time when I will let someone into my life, who will help me write my story, where both ours will be a collision of different words that make up the human beings that we are. I promise that I will look past your flaws but deeper into why I picked up your book in the first place. I will be your lover and never the one who kills but the one who will mend you together when broken. To the first one who meets one’s end, promise me that you will write my remaining words, and I, promise you too to continue for you.

n.j.

My eyes narrow down the space in front of me
Everything I see is irrelevant, despite them being my view and vision

I cannot stop looking at you

You are the image at the corner of my eye
The exhibit displayed at the end of the hall
The voice that drowns out every ventilated word
The glance I catch looking at my side profile
Yet I assume it’s the pretty girl beside me you aim for

I want to see you

But you are just a back facing me
A tempting glimpse at the nape
A friendly smile
And a hand opening the door for the next

You are several glances at a time
Someone I can look at,
But someone I know, I can’t call mine

n.j.

Will there be words enough to express the gratitude I feel for the physical embodiment of comfort?
I think if I try to layer each sheet of thank you and letters, I would make one hell of a tower I’m sure I would be proud of
So thank you for the years of awkwardness and tears and embraces that I have kept looping at a space at the back of my head
But worry not, for this space is remarkable, and is not a singular box nor a definition of solitude

For I have you

We are the youth that grew yet we are still tiptoeing and hoping that we will reach the gap between the doorstep above our heads
Our expressions and terms evolved and shaped the corners of our lips in between the giggles and aches and words we wish we had not misplaced
And I will fall into apology for that one time I blamed you and him for the distance that constructed between us
Yet you built a bridge and crossed it for me
And I despised how I built walls that arose high up that vultures mistook me for a corpse
But the only bridge I would ever want to cross, is the aisle between pews
To meet the man who is to wed my best friend and whom he is willing to fight for

So I thank you

For accepting each fragment of thought
And for gently opening the envelope even though you have no clue what was in store
I was a letter of disarrayed vocals yet you took me into your home
And spent a sufficient amount of time to decipher the paragraphs of each fold
You proved your worth when you did not think I was another piece of crumpled paper
And you found similarities and comfort in my torn up corners

For that I am thankful

I know I will spend the rest of my life with you
This is not a confession of love and romance (god no) but something much more genuine
I will be your children’s jokes and the books that they read
I will greet your husband with a fist bump and I will be your company of trips to the sea
I will drag you to my first tattoo and I will be your most annoying plead
I will be the anchor to keep you steady when far from the shore,
I will be the old woman with gray hair and so will you

And this is what I hope for

A friendship that will not expire and turn into inedible satisfaction
That our hands will always find each other’s comfort
And be the other person’s exception
To finally reach the gap above our heads, with stretched fingers
To create countless views of looping embraces
And to be far from the crumpled paper of envelopes
For no matter what reason it may be, I will make amends
And to these layers and sheets of towering thank you’s and letters
No matter if this world is turned upside down,

I will always love you, and you will always be my best friend

n.j.

my feet dangle by the edge of the rooftop
and i am terrified that i have every ounce of courage slowly building up inside of me
my soles still sting from the glass shards that sliced my knuckles open
and it was odd how my mind exclusively focused on my feet and not the hands that engaged into combat with my reflection
my hair is in the way, quickly growing into the nuisance it will always be
it tastes of cheap shampoo, cigarettes, fumes and yesterday's drug abuse
but let me tell you this, i do not do drugs
but the cuts on my fingers, and the dirt under my nails, will tell you that i do
it was just a misunderstanding, a punch to the face, a jaw i thought would dislocate, and tears swelling up, obstructed by a lip bite away
i am not clean, i can show you my wrists as proof and more on my arms to gain your sorry's and mercy
but i do not want attention
it's funny since i'm the one seated at the edge of the rooftop, the top floor, the 22nd
and i am trying to capture the entire city by a single look, including my peripheral vision
trying to picture, the edges of the photograph it will be
but my hair is in the way, and i can barely see
so i pretend to perceive the scenery yet attempt to not disregard the words i think they speak
their sounds start to appear as turbid as a puddle of mud
and yet everyone looks happy enough from up here

i grow eager by the second
thoughts do not outstretch and remain abrupt as my legs suspend high up from the ground
and i hope to stay irrelevant
as my fingers slip from the concrete and my wrists twist toward the wind

i will not think of my last words until i am close enough to outline the features on their faces, and trace the roads that are lining up with vehicles, boarded with individuals who will not see me until i am scattered on the pavement

n.j.

They claimed to have heard a voice in the sky
A voice that promised a civilization to safety and salvation
But maybe I was too deaf to realize
Or even hear that such a voice could be heard from thousands of miles up high
Maybe I was too ignorant and followed my own instincts and lies
But who are you to blame me, I was a young child
Eyes that have not yet been opened
Arms kept clean to the years to come, and counting
Skin left to reflect the admiration the moon has for its lover
And a smile kept genuine, that served as a curtain for the crooked teeth behind it
I was a young child at 9

Years passed and the moon still had a lover
The sun emanated its guidance and love for her
Yet the people still worshipped the voice above them
I heard they started building statues and churches, to which I turned the other ear
Because the only thing I believed was that they were soon to crumble
And become the origin of which is rubble,
A combination of corpses, offerings and slavery on top of one another
I refused to believe that such a voice could lead a civilization to destruction
Yet people were so deceived, their heads remained high,
Exposing their necks to a god that I called a murderer
But who are you to blame me, I was an ‘ignorant’ girl
My eyes were coated with the truth
I had stopped counting the years I was clean
And began to enumerate and name the scars I hid beneath my sleeves
Yet my skin remained warm from the radiance of two lovers I believed
The sun guided me and the moon sang me to sleep
I was an ‘ignorant’ girl at 17
The year when my genuine smile, disappeared

Now I am left with nothing else but to question
And in return receive an answer not worth my time nor the oppression,
That I experienced throughout this lifetime I chose to not believe in them
The 'them' who claimed to have heard the voice in the sky
And the 'I' that chose to turn deaf enough to realize
That there is no such thing as a perfect civilization of safety and salvation
I was not ignorant because I had my facts laid out in front of me and them
But they never believed a word I tried to verbalize,
How ironic for a nation of people to believe a non-existent voice from the sky
To which they turned their backs to the sun that kept them warm and to the moon of dimmed brightness and light

But now, I am left with nothing
So I went back to where it all started, the origin, and held my head up high
Revealed my neck to the god I believed was a lie
And for a split second, I thought my neck would cut open and blood would start coursing down my chest instead of my throat

I believed I thought I would die

n.j.

There is a story behind everything

Whether they can pass for something interesting you can talk about at parties, a story you wish to tell your children, or words and paragraphs you wish to keep between closed books, unspoken

We choose to let these stories unfold on the sentimental values that uphold such existence

Like the ring on my finger, the necklace around my neck that I hope could represent how much I love a person

Or the scarf that was given to me one winter, a picture that was taken last summer, or simply just thoughts that cannot be expressed enough to shape something physical

Everything comes in forms with words of meaning, that may or may not articulate accounts that we desire to bring across an audience of eager listeners and uninterested individuals

There is no such thing as ‘meaningless’, just significance, and one is not required to utter words that can suffice the story behind it

It doesn’t matter if it can only be held by the heart, or of hands that are worthy

We all have treasures to keep and experiences that we have yet to receive and it is up to us as human beings to take such things with gratitude that will be enough to create a story

A story that would be deserving of words, or a story of unsaid expressions that are ours to keep

n.j.

and that's when i realized
that i'll always love her
no matter if the sun rises and shines
no matter if the moon loses its partner
no matter if the sky turns gray and dies

i'll always love her

until the world stops turning
until the rivers run dry
until the trees lose their leaves and crumble

i'll always ******* love her

love is a knock on the door
if ever it comes unexpectedly, be sure to make it feel at home
it will be this stranger with a smile too enticing to ignore, yet you will give it your all, trust and love, skin and bones

love is the corner of each page turned
patiently waiting for the reader to fall in love with him or her
it is the beginning of every word written on paper, and to every beginning there must come an end, yet the ending to each story will keep you at your toes, with a desire for another chapter or even another word

love is the warm mornings of winter
it is a blanket enveloping every inch of your skin, ensuring you that haven is within reach and the spaces between your fingers
its kiss will be the taste of coffee or tea and its embraces will be felt enclosing the very palms of your hands, giving you the satisfaction you need

love is a child with scraped knees
no matter how many times they fall, no matter how many more experiences they meet and no matter how many times they have to land on their knees, they will rise eventually, whether with tears in their eyes or a smile too big that it stretches their cheeks, they will continue running and playing the game they never finished

yet love is not a game you can play, not with feelings
it is not a card you can trade, it is not something you can throw away after the game is finished
it is this victory that engulfs you once you have reached the other end of the line
it is this passion waiting to congratulate you on the other side, with a kiss, a hug, or even more love so divine

but love is not all about contentment and days numbered with joyous hours and time
it is also the taste of defeat, a taste that your tongue and palate will never grow used to
it is a wound that is never there, that stings with each touch and each word that reminds you of the other
it is inevitable and a moment that cannot be stopped with time
it is a journey that cannot be undone, a path that you cannot meet halfway, yet you will try with every ounce you’ve got to reach the finish line you thought was destined for you and the other
and even though that other started off with a smile, too enticing to ignore, you gave all your love and trust, to every bit of your skin and bones
no matter if they’re gone, along with your love and trust, at least they gave you back something in return

because love stayed up with you all night
talked with you for hours as if time itself was slipping away
love was an argument you couldn’t win
it was the only game that made you feel that you failed
it was a heartbreak away yet you pushed yourself to look past the flaws that made them frail
love was an inspiration to strength
a story that made you turn each page even though you knew the beginning to their end
and no matter what weather, love gave you the warmth you needed
it became the time that healed the wounds to your knees, the spaces between your fingers, the blanket that enveloped every inch of your skin

yet love was also the reason why the smile so wide it reached your ears, disappeared
it was the reason why you stayed up all night, waiting for time to slip away
it was the reason why your view on love developed into fear

and still, love was the reason why you were thankful, that you reached the finish line
it was the reason that kept you waiting by the door each night, expecting and hoping for another knock to come by
love was the reason why you trusted strangers with such smiles
and you knew that no matter what happened, if love still came knocking at your door
you were sure that you would still welcome it home

n.j.

i loved you with a heart beating
and in return you gave me back the friendship i needed
although i would still give you every ounce of my soul, every inch of my skin, every tear, every scar and every kiss i would bleed for
nothing will ever change, and sadly we were not given the power to control another person's heart
for we are already selfish beings, and i guess that's more than this world needs
yet you never gave up nor deserted me
and when i poured my heart out
you caught it with your bare hands, still beating and breathing
you held it gently with a smile on your lips and tears in your eyes
you said that you couldn't take it but i insisted
and you told me to say no more
because there are others who are worth and needed it the most
but that if ever those others would break the heart i poured

you'd be there waiting for me with yours

n.j.

my first love did not love me back

i watched her from afar as her smile radiated the layers and sheets of the ground that has yet to crumble
hair held back or let down, her face shone and all i could see was the future that wasn't written at the palm of my hands
whenever our eyes reflected, in her i saw everything i could ever want
she was never beyond reach, yet whenever i held her hands and wrists, i felt her pulse skip a beat, and i knew that it was not for me
her lips met others to satisfy and her touch kissed the skin of another
but i remained by her side amongst many others
sometimes i felt as if i was closest to a wave i could ever be, only to be washed away and be brought back to shore
you are that wave, and no matter how many times i am closest to drowning, no matter how many times you drag me back to shore away from you, i will keep swimming, maybe in the hopes that someday i'll be able to join you
and to every sunrise and every sunset of everyday
to every rainfall and to every sunshine we praise
you will always be on my mind no matter what weather or day
as stupid as i sound as a love sick fool, clinging to a wave that easily slips from my skin, that leaves a stinging sensation for every attempt i try to shoot for the heart
i will always be left with sand in my ears and lips cut in between
yet i will continue to watch for that wave, and the sun that peaks through, high up in the sky without a single cloud
i will watch until the layers and sheets underneath me crumble
and even 'til death, you will always be the reminder of the first love that never loved me back

n.j.

how simple is love, if you could just walk out the door, and have them fall into your arms
how simple is love, if you could long for company and have them racing to you like the pace of your heart
how simple is love, if you could just place your hands against their cheeks, so simple yet satisfying as when your tongue tastes the light of the sun
how simple is love, if you could have them within reach, like most material things so irrelevant and what are considered wants over needs
how simple is love, if you could have them close, too close by your sheets that they become the comfort and the air that you breathe
how simple is love, if you could wake up and have the presence of their weight felt, whether a phone call away or an inch
how simple is love, if i could simply have you here, whenever i need you the most for a kiss
how simple are all these things, and the love we view as bliss, like those we read in between pages and paragraphs, a crisscross of how two people meet

yet in between these pages and lines, are the stories and words that have yet to unfold
and i was not aware of what i had to hold before my eyes

i cannot feel you by the tips of my fingers, nor can i walk out the door to find myself welcome to your arms and kiss
i can only long for your company, praying that my heart will not leap out of my chest, because i know that no one will come racing to claim for the lifeless body, and i will be buried under, nailed and coffin closed, sadly like the rest
i cannot have you within reach, i can only surround myself with all of these temporary wants and in time, i know, i will no longer need
i will suffocate underneath these sheets, and your weight will not be felt because you are miles and miles apart, separated by sea, not an inch
and i cannot return back the love you need but i will continue to love you nonetheless, without growing tired and weary, no matter if i am even close to death, and to me, this is the simplest love can get

these are the stories and paragraphs that have yet to unfold
in between the lines are these words of a love we all view as bliss, a crisscross of how two people meet
and this was the only thing i had myself to prepare for

the story i grew up being told

n.j.

you complete my thoughts before i utter a word
you speak as if you take the words out of my mouth
robbing me of the sentences that are filled with doubt
and changing them to certainty, like a frown turned upside down
i don't always know what to say, but with you, you turn that around
but sometimes i feel bad, that i can't find the exact words to say
yet you keep talking, word after word
whether be it on screen or the voice inside your head, the tips of your fingers, or the whispers that have yet to be said
with a mind so beautifully written
i wonder if you truly are too clever for your own good
yet i am thankful for your way of words
for the comfort and for the person on the other side
and if given enough time to find the words i could
they wouldn't be enough to suffice how amazing of a person you are

but i know in the end, i need not explain, for we both know, my incomplete thoughts will be understood

n.j.

she just wanted to feel pretty
so she sliced her wrists to ease the pain
the blood was a beautiful sight to see
than lipstick pressed on lips with vain

"one day", she said "one day i'll be
the one so perfect, the ideal, the real me
with the body, the face, the skin and hair,
the ones who called me ugly, will never dare"

before she could even break into a smile
her eyes stopped moving and her mouth went dry
with the very last breath that left her lips
her body went lifeless, and so she died

n.j.

i want to write something life changing
but i always end up rambling about the things i've been building up for so long that slowly end up falling apart before my eyes. the slightest things can have an impact on myself and can cause me to relapse. a single word, an image, a person, can trigger so many things and memories that lead me to breaking into a million pieces. it's up to me if i can afford a lot of time and patience into thinking if i want to resemble the parts of myself that i want to improve. i want to think of myself as an embodiment of flaws and confidence. but i am just one of those in the end. it's so hard to  continue doing your everyday routines, trying to catch up with schedules and my favorite bands and idols, when i myself can't understand where i'm heading. i pray so hard, to a god, someone that i want to believe in but i'm slowly drifting apart from, everyday hoping that i'll get better when it's been 5 years of on and off struggles and relapsing. i want to get better, so that in the future i can share words that are written in happiness and certainty. instead of the redundancy of constant death, thoughts of suicide, and insecurity. i want people to stay tuned, maybe anticipating if i end up dying early from overdose or recovering completely from the darkness that has engulfed me long ago. but no one is sure, not even myself if i will get better. all i know is that i'm still here and in the process of finding something that will change my life forever.

it doesn't matter
whether it's a girl and a guy
a woman holding a woman
a guy kissing a guy

it doesn't matter
if they fall in love with one other
who are we to judge
who they want to choose as their lover

it doesn't matter
if they live their own lives
if you can't accept that
what difference does it make
if you continue to live yours
in choosing to stay alive

it doesn't matter
if a man and a woman say i do
in front of an altar
why are people disgusted
when two others
accept their love for each other

it doesn't matter
if she kissed her
and he, him
you are just as human
you have a beating heart
and you have the desire to love
just like all of them

n.j.

I dream of a life living in hell. It's insane I know, but I love picturing myself in bruises and more scars than I already have. I fantasize of someone kicking me in the face, mutilating myself and drugging every last inch of my brain with more memories that can stimulate my being traumatized. Everyone dreams of a happy, non-problematic life, truth be told I do too, but there are just moments were I picture a person smothered in pity and suicide.
I take hours driving into nowhere. I leave at dawn or in the middle of the night and have long conversations with a lover who craves for lust as much as I do. But it will always be her or maybe him and I. Just the two of us, driving towards utopia but mistaking the roads and ending up in an opposite world.
I dream of having *** that will make me feel alive. On the road, in the middle of nowhere, abandoned houses, motels, bathroom stalls and bedrooms that smell of old newspapers and cardboards. My partner scratching me as I bleed. I dream of a him and a her, a ****** up version of me, filled with tattoos and scars, who drown themselves in ***** and cigarettes, and someone who thinks just as I do. They choke me with words, and penetrations. Maybe fingers and wet lips. I always give in, and they are always in control.
I dream of crying on their necks or shoulders, releasing my anger and all the heat into their kisses and lust. I dream of him or her, finding me, a little too late, in a bathtub filled with a lifeless and breathless body. And they will mourn over me and join me later on, on the journey.

It's sick of me, for someone to think this way, maybe I'm just too ****** up, maybe I need help, but I guess these are my horrible fantasies, of a tragic life I crave for. A world where no one cares and thinks about me except maybe for that person. A world where I dream of killing myself and breathing in drugs to help me forget about the perfect life I am in.

But that world does not exist. I live in this one where I am me. I have scars, I smoke, I eat, I breathe, I talk, I laugh, I'm happy and alive. That world is just another one of my desires and fantasies. Another definition of the word "living"

n.j.

I wish I had a reason on why I stay up all night
Like a lover by my side and our endless goodbyes
If only I had closed my eyes and called it a night
Instead of spending so much time staring at blank spaces and blinding lights
Computer screens that give me headaches in return for relief
And non-existent people I look up to and believe
I wish I had someone I loved by my side
Instead of my arms wrapped in scars and pulses that I thought will always keep me alive
I wish I had someone who made me crave for love
Instead of this annoying anticipation for death and giving up
And the urge to cut and mutilate for the sake of a friend
Who helped build me up until I could be ready for my death bed

I wish I had a reason on why I stay up all night
Instead of these thoughts that course through my body and veins
Preparing and hoping that maybe, today will be that day

n.j.

We are all born human beings
Born with hearts half filled
And fingers separated
Sealed lips meant for smiles
And eyes blinded at birth
Yet we grow to realize
That we are beings that are worth
More than the flaws that we are
And the scars that we have
The loneliness we succumb to
The sadness we abuse
We are human beings
Whose hearts are are yet to be filled
Fingers left to be intertwined with another
And eyes yet to see the love
We truly deserve
And that one heart
We are made for
That other

n.j.

I write this story of grief
On a piece of paper
Or a plastic cup
Whether be it filled with water
Have it crumpled up or torn apart
As long as I have a pen or pencil
A hand and mind to pour it out
I speak the words I'm spoken
And I write the things we were all about

Expressing in past tense
I try to recollect yet forget the past
Of broken edges that kept me safe and sound
From tempting love and growing lust
A hand that won't keep still
Partnered with a body with an aching itch
I trust my mind but it's my heart that speaks
A hand kept still, a hand craving for bliss

I am stuck at a loss for words
A pen in hand, the impatient ink
Teeth gritting for a paragraph of her
Pages kept blank, with a hand unstill
A pen or a pencil, longing for touch
A plastic cup, half empty, half gone
Mouth thirsty, craving for lust

n.j.

I want to die

And that's not just a saying
I want to rip my lungs out
And stop myself from breathing
I've grown to hate not love
The so called "temple" He gave me
Day by day, always at thought
Accompanied with only the beauty of death
And the overwhelming feeling of envy
I'm tired and I just don't know
How to keep this facade on longer anymore
I'm sick in the head
But no one seems to care
I'm tired of the mistakes
And of the people who are never there

So I'm writing this poem
It's stupid I know
A bunch of useless thoughts
Put together for a final show
Maybe I'll be gone after you read the last word
Maybe I'll be crying to sleep again
Maybe I'll fantasize of shooting myself in the head
Maybe...

But I don't know

n.j.

I love how the ocean puts me at ease
How the sand kisses my toes
How the wind feels so strong
Almost as if someone's wrapping
Their arms around me
How I feel so secure
How no one can hear me
How I'm all alone with nobody
And nothing but the breeze

I love how cold it is
How free I am
It almost feels like bliss

I love how the ocean
Can almost be like a dear friend
That has always been there listening
Never pretending like everybody else

I love how no matter how many times
The seasons have changed, it always
Tells me that everything's going to be okay
No matter how strong the waves
How violent or aggressive they may be
It was always there, to calm me
Keeping me from harm
From everything it knew of me

But I hate the thought of not knowing
That it has always been there
And will forever be

I hate how unappreciated I have been
That not a single hello or thank you
Ever passed through me
Not even a smile of gratitude
To satisfy the bliss that it has given to me

I hate how my last moments
Were with you
How you kissed my toes
With the sand that will become me
How you embraced me with your
Last bliss
Making me as secure for the journey

I hate how when I finally gave away
And closed my eyes
I only realized that you've always been there
Waiting for a reply
For a last goodbye

But I love how you still accepted me
Despite the circumstances
You took me without hesitation
Without regret
Without hate
Just love
Enough to put me at ease
Enough to keep me awake
Even after all these years
Because to you, I was always a friend

And you

My therapy


n.j.