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.

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.

The wind howls to the craters of the moon, wondering if its lack of breath is another respiratory disease waiting to happen
As bodies crash into the ocean and casualties increase by every bottled up sensibility
The cracks of cardboard doors fill up the voids of emptiness,
Emptiness of washed up filth and five days worth of street toxic meant for the guts too vacant to feel
Their doors quiver to every knock and exhale, families too hungry, awaiting to devour assurance of safety
Just this once, they are asking for a little more
Than numbered days of handfuls of rice and rock salt, enough to feed the mouths of eight
Teeth clicking to every bite, bones clashing together to prolong the food not more than a mouthful
However this time the clicking doesn’t stop
It intensifies as street light poles plummet into windows and shards are washed away, seeping through soaked doors
They are told to leave these places without titles but this unnamed land is their entitlement and home
Their mother whose tongue is a symphony of lullabies remains silent, hoping for the storm to pass
Lips swollen from biting, she looks at her children with fear in her eyes, tears reflecting the shattered bulb that hangs by the kitchen ceiling
She links her arms to her children’s, grips their skin tightly hoping to warm their shivering exterior while whispering the words “they’ll come for us”

Time elapses and the water rises, their properties enveloped by the disease
Their house disappears along with it, in a downward current of pitch black and rotten forestry
What is left is a family of seven, arms linked and accompanied by the howling wind,
Slowly diminishing with its lack of breath, becoming a nationwide debris

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

as human beings and consumers, we often seek for contentment
as seekers, we search for satisfaction to fill in missing parts of us we think we need
as lovers, we seek for attention, longingness and to be far off from the void
we search for what is relevant enough to be the food of our soul, and as we consume we are never satisfied
so we seek for satisfaction, wanting more
and with hands full, a heart pouring out of selflessness, we destroy ourselves
as we fall in love, we fall apart
giving and offering missing puzzle pieces that exist within us
as we gradually become into nothing, we feed off of others, consuming whatever it is they have left
we accept their love, and they, our flaws
aware that we are only body parts that are reconnecting
as we heal, we occupy their vacancies, filling in missing parts that have been hollow for too long
we become their musings, their vertebrae of support
they become our sanctuary and our hope
they become the memories that look into the future
instead of the mistakes that shaped who we are

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.

Scatter the ashes that have become steady flesh
Before someone collects them to bury the remains in a false cemetery
Scatter them quickly into the flowing rivers and high up in the skies
I am parallel to their world; I am the closest to death

Ligaments and veins that was once compelling
Supreme yet a puppet to garrulous demons
An artistic treasure box of limited oxygen
Fell victim to powerless witnesses that chose to keep their silence

When our bodies collapse and our hearts expire
Revive my breath with visitations and flowers
Although I am now a river and a turbid sky
I am parallel to your world yet I am right here by your side

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.

Drain me out

I am a flightless bird soaked in deep water
Hindered by the heaviness of my feathers
Constantly weighing down my flock
I am not my own burden
But a bag of rocks thrown into the ocean
A corpse to never be found
When meant to catch the eyes of the innocent
My body refuses to stay afloat
My mind is living under
And I have no choice but to hit rock bottom

So hear me out

Carry my withering bones and feathers
When my body decides to give out
I cannot keep living under water
I am not meant for this environment
My skin is meant to feed the clouds of freedom
Tracing linear passages and unsteady travels,
With my own people
We are meant to soar into oblivion
Of building dreams and vision
But my mind keeps living under
And I cannot escape what has harvested inside
I have no choice but to hit rock bottom

n.j.

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.

she looks at his eyes while he stares at her thighs
and he's wondering if she's going to sleep with him tonight
the dress that hangs by her dainty physique is meant to impress
but all he pictures is what's underneath
their hearts beat giving values to their chests
of treasured boxes kept locked away from all of the rest
she wishes for solace and an assurance to not be pressed
he wishes to gain her trust and to take over, hoping for a nightly event of passionate ***
he lures her into a loophole of false intent
she smiles at his slipping mask but continues to reciprocate
they exchange words over drunk breaths
but she is too intoxicated so she forgets
her tenuous wrists are taken into his
she tries to refuse but eventually gives in
to forceful attainment and prohibited entry
she wonders if her racing heart will be heard through her thin exterior
she wonders if there are other words for "help"
and why men always have to be the superior
her fingers are helpless along with tight shut eyes
clothing sliding from svelte body parts, past unconscious skin
she senses heavy breathing, not hers, to keep herself wondering
unaware and completely susceptible
she falls asleep, passing out with her body against his

the sun will kiss her tender cheeks
with the absence of coffee drinks
she will be awake and lying next to nothing but empty sheets
she will remember looking into his eyes
hoping that he was the one to keep her safe from reoccurring lies
but he was nothing but a crooked thief
who robbed her of her entirety

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.

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.

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.

I'm just your regular girl
I grow tired every now and then
Sometimes I get up when I've fallen
Sometimes I stay down and play pretend

A little game of forced smiles
And holding in the things they've said
A little game of hide and seek
Between my itching skin
And the monsters in my head

I'm always used to this
C'mon now, I play this everyday
But no matter how many times I've tried
I always lose
And, Losers get a hold of the blade

Funny isn't it?
How you thought you could enjoy such games
Lose or win, I get to play the survivor
With a couple of overlapping scars and spaces
And chances of playing another game
Of Pretend

n.j.

don't look at me as if i'm some piece of side trash left alone to rot like a cigarette ****
stop discarding my worth and comparing me to those less like me
i am not expendable
but i am just like you, not an ashtray of growing remains and dust

n.j.

coming home from a long day of school, i am welcomed by my mother's kisses yet it's the blade's that touch my cheek
i feel the long glides of hello's and how are you's creep up my veins and sleeves
my heart pounds like a hummingbird, except this time there's no bird but a desperate cry clawing at the door
my throat catches itself as i skip lunch with an empty stomach. my tears will be all that's left to ingest and the dining room will be my bathroom floor
i collapse on my knees drenched in uniform sweat, punching the tiles and marble décor
why is it, that every time i strip i reach for sharp edges instead of shower curtains?
why do my hands try to break the buildings of restraint? why are they strong enough to reach for the blades?
and why am i considered weak if i resort to such violence?

i cannot remember the last time my thighs looked bare
each time i recall, i see a naked canvas stained with red and purple
my individual hairs dipped in fresh cuts and my head spinning around in circles
each time i try to forget the lunch i skipped and the conversations of unspoken words i never said,
the skull behind my forehead trembles with regret
and i’ll remember how my heart would pound like the wings of a hummingbird
flying back and forth, clawing and tearing my chest open as i reach for the door

my mom awaits me with kisses to welcome me home
but i’ll be too eager to collapse on the bathroom floor

n.j.

You kissed me on the lips
Past slurred words of "I love you"
While I was soundly asleep

It felt so real
The want and the passion
My mouth touching yours
Our breaths pacing
Thoughts filled
And time moving backwards

You kissed me last night
I swear I remember
If you didn't then
Why does my mouth still feel heavy?
From when you pressed body against body?

Your smile
Like a burning image
Ashes that scatter
Gone but clearly remembered
So real
The tension, the presence
You were there
I remember
I remember

---

I woke up with the urge
To want to hold you close to me
So I reached out
But instead held onto a hallow hole
An empty bed side and cold sheets
I needed you, the way you needed me
But I was all alone
With an empty heart,
A heartbreaking realization
That it was only a dream

n.j.

i am glowing from within
i feel something inside of me sprouting and begging to be set free
it's telling me that it's alright to have messy hands for words and torn pages i can't yet seem to comprehend
my fingertips are soaked in specks of imaginary turned to reality
and i am grasping them with every will that i've got in order to create something extraordinary
i am living art; i do not need a canvas to lay out my work because i know that the roads will take me there
i am aware that during the early years that there will be people willing to pay to watch me fail
but i am a human being designed to create
and i don't want to waste my breath dwelling and holding onto things that i can't proudly say are mine
i may fail but i will not stay down only to be eaten alive
i will face death in order to overcome these voices that have been residing for far too long in my head
and they will never take me, i will never give in

n.j.

I have lost my words
Which I turn to for repose and release
They have disappeared and transformed
Into slurred speeches and mismatched colors
My fingers, they search for comfort
Lacing each other in confusion

I cannot find the words I am looking for
My thoughts have remained quiet for too long
What I thought was a spectrum I could rely on
Is as bland and dull as the skin I have worn

My eyes are a perception of lies
Only visualizing in black and white
My mouth a conception of verbal conundrum
Confusing and replacing words
Once so facilely found

I am born into a world
I'm not even sure I can call my own
I do not know where I am from
I cannot find the words I wish for anymore

n.j.



https://perennialink.wordpress.com/2015/11/06/unpoetic/

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.

I don't know what makes me so insecure
I don't understand why I'm so drawn to obscurity
I ask too many questions behind a closed mouth
I am prone to failure and imperfection
My thoughts are orderly aligned and filled with doubt

I write but fail yet my goal is to silence the voices that won't stop speaking
I express in quietness but the messages I bear are too deafening to hear
I am that girl by the corner, fiddling her fingers
Covering her ears with music and pulling down the sleeves to mask unacceptable scars
I am the girl you won't notice when you walk through that door

I am too shy and lonely for such an early age
I keep myself up all night with conversations and words I wish I had said, yet
I am preoccupied with hours of sleep to forget the anxiety I built
I crave for death yet every ounce of my body is telling me to live
I am a mess I can't fix, I search for answers yet I am too blind to see solutions that are laid in front of me

n.j.

A sunflower that blooms without the sun
A silhouette that lingers along the walls
Without a figure, eavesdropping, wanting for more
A sense of taste without bitterness, sweetness nor contentment
A presence that stood still amongst the crowd
A lost soul forgotten by the bus
Another day, sulking in resentment
A scent that was never there, just a person with a lonely heart
Waiting for comfort, until the day, they finally fall apart
A smile left hanging by a thread
A goodbye less, a long lost hug from a friend
Another half to fill the empty space between two arms
Fingertips that caress unmended scars
Faded, torn, unintended, absent, belittled, irrelevant
Another breathing human less
Another life, crushed and torn into shreds

n.j.

I'm in love with you
And the thought of fiction makes my heart quench for more
The thought of my fingers intertwining with yours
The thought of having your heavy hands in mine, as one
Is all I'm asking for

Your lips scented of cigarettes I crave
More than any other drug I've taken
And if I overdose from the love you gave
Then I'd rather die a life that's worth getting into your haven

The thought of getting drunk by your breath leaves me breathless
Each lick, each line that goes straight to the head
Would be enough for me to stay up all night, restless

Your veins will be the last trace of blood in me
Injected and infected like a deadly disease
The thought of having you inside of me, moving freely
Coursing throughout every inch and limb of flesh that I own
Gets me higher like ******* on ice
As cold and heavy like your hands, like stones

You will be my favourite
My favourite everything
Better than the drugs that I've taken
The liquor I've been saving
To keep me awake on Friday nights
You will be better than the *** I've been having and faking
You will be better than any other man alive

And the thought of having you is like fiction asking for hope in delusion
And hate asking for love
For another chance, another try

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.

there was always this crack in her voice when she spoke, sometimes not too distinct but it was almost as if she was trying to block out the noise and the arms that try to reach
she stood like a wilting flower, head bowing at pavements and worn out tiles yet she possessed this beauty that signified the last dying hours of a queen
she was lovely but lacked being loved and although her hands were made to stretch out to pieces that could build her whole, she was always too lonely, too alone
her heart gravitated toward those who were broken and upon seeking she served as their comfort and they, as body parts, temporary but not permanent enough to keep her together
she was a puzzle piece that never fit, often dismantled and avoided but despite solitary, she ignited like a bleeding petal
an unperceivable watch on broken wrists, ticking the life out of human beings, a countdown forever on repeat
she would have never guessed how many hearts she could capture just by grasping them with her eyes, so departed and vacant from feet-up yet so alive
such a beautiful girl capable of suicide and saving lives of those who now continue to remain as survivors
yet any second, this wilting flower could give out and die
and sadly, her beauty wouldn't be enough to save her life

n.j.

My hands are cold
And lonely like my soul
My lips are untouched
Craving for a kiss, wanting more
My body itches
Waiting for you to be by my side
My life is dull without you
Because you are the center
And love of my life

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.

Your face
Is all I remember
At the back
Of my head

Your taste
Is all I can decipher
At the tip
Of my tongue

Your smell
Is all I can inhale
Clouding up
My lungs

Everything else
Is a ******* blur

What have you done?