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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

You're ****** up in every way
And that's what makes you more perfect
You've made mistakes day by day
But I'm always here to say you're worth it

You drank to relieve the pain
And smoked cigarettes to fill up your lungs
You covered yourself in tattoos from fingers to arms
But there's always that person reminding you of the wrong you've done

You swore to carry on
Past the judgements and mistaken looks
The ***** stayed to help and so did I
But somehow that never helped, and so your life, you took

Your smile remained, along with your love
Your laugh, your touch
Your courage was there
But something wasn't enough

You kissed me and it tasted like death
Of whiskey, recklessness and cigarettes
Your heart, it continued to beat less
But on this day, I never knew I'd be all alone because you left

You offed yourself that night
It was summer, and the moon was out
A tight rope, with relief in your eyes
You said you'd carry on
But here we are, you and I

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 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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 don't think this cycle is meant to be broken
I seem to be running in circles, frequently going back into old habits like it's bound to happen
I detest each passing day with a passion because I should be living a life worth telling and I should be dreaming dreams that I will make into a reality
But I keep cutting my words short, filling my lungs with smoke and body with scars too prominent to show
I have nothing to look forward to, my days feel numbered and I'm not responding well to the help I'm offered
I'm burying my voice along with the others, I'm not afraid of them anymore

I will let them devour me alive, watch them tower over me until I am nothing, until I am no more

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 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.

the moments pass by like fading eclipses and melting snow
i'll melt away into the dark and picture the fingers that caressed my skin,
you cradled my heart and watched me grow
thank you for being there as i witnessed the city lights behind foggy windows
for kissing my knees and elbows, for showing me how to pour milk into cereal
for every second you bury your fists into the dirt, you never complained,
no matter even if i never thanked you enough
i threw away the chances i got, so here's the best that i'm given
i dedicate this poem to you that's written in between listening to records at 2 am
the smudginess of how clear i want my gratitude to come across will remain turbid
and you can tell by the skies how much i miss the weekends by the bay,
the sand between my toes and shoes colliding with the gravel
i miss the summer and winters but this family is all i have to remember things by
thank you for being the angels that stood by my side. i appreciate the guidance that light during dark tunnels
for not forcing me to change despite my greasy hair and scraped knuckles
thank you for running with me and for catching my tears when they fall
you loved me unconditionally, the kind of love a daughter could ever ask for
you traced my smile with yours and connected my bones when i was lost
you picked me up when i tried collecting dust off of table corners,
you said it was okay to feed and love the cats that roamed the streets
and i will forever admire your courage and sincerity
although life is but a fleeting journey in which our hands were once that held onto overgrown grass and our mother's hair,
let us remember this moment when everything feels less of temporary
let us appreciate the people that held our hearts,
let us thank them with a kiss, a hug, words on paper, a work of art
let us continue to love them

so here it is, my thank you to you

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.

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 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.

we all rely on the gravity that pulls us back into the earth when our heads are caught up in the clouds. the world is one gigantic living and breathing organism that latches on to the beliefs we so speak. but what separates me from you are the barriers that position us in places where we're out of reach. and all i desire for is to be able to meet you, see you and acknowledge the fact that you are real.

i move from place to place until i lose count of all the people i encounter and i feel as if we may have crossed paths on the streets or the grocery store or daily hour. i'd be lying if i say that i never get tired of searching for you every day but i believe the world moves in mysterious ways so that one day those walls will crumble and disappear and everything else will fall into place, and just maybe you might be real.

i drag my feet across concrete and daily routines often forgetting that the world is indeed too unfathomable to explain. you could have been that person gazing out the window of hotel rooms or vehicles. you could have been the person in front of the line, counting your change before making your way. you could have seen the scars on my arms or my vacant eyes and how you wished you could have approached me in some way that wasn't odd for you and i. maybe you could have said hi. but such acknowledgments are often dismissed with eye contacts and smiles, sometimes not even our senses could be leaned on. our true intentions disguised with glances, subtle hand brushes and complete negligence.

quickly enough, you are nothing but just a stranger walking past me unknowingly with only the thoughts of daily routines clouding up your mind. you may forget the order of things and misinterpret a stare as elusive, wishfully hoping it could have been an introduction to a greeting. i apologize for not initiating on to the next step and only admiring how lonely a human being could get, standing alongside me and many others yet our bodies seem to respond only to each other intensely but subtly to the eye.

we both know the holdback is agonizing and we wish for the day when we would be running our fingers through the rubble of the walls we tear down. for now, what we believe in will remain as thoughts. the world will always contradict with our stream of desires, dreams and feelings. you and i may not know of each others' existence but everything else on this earth is alive, living and breathing, and in time i will be able to look at you in the eyes and know for sure that you are all that is real.

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.

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.

You are perfection
From your lips to your skin
Tanned body and your dedication
To music from within
The aura that bursts
Setting fire to the stage
Your fingers that play
For effortless hours and days
Dreadlocks they extend
From your shoulders
To your chest
Tattoos that cover
Your heavy fingers
With images
Your smile
That keeps me happier
Than anything else
Your recklessness
I love it, the way
You brag around and tell
--------------
But you are a musician
And I am just a girl
I watch from afar
There's always this distance
Like every other fan
In this world

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.

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.

your words spill like hot coffee across the table
with every syllable and touch of the tongue against your palate
i am still not used to how clouded your mind is
you often forget that i exist as a person with emotion,
a person with scars that can gradually reopen
i realized throughout the days that you barely know the little things,
like my favorite color, the reason behind my smiles and the passion
that i've grown used to hiding
you forget to question the reason behind my tears,
you forget to hold me when i'm surrounded by all these fears,
but i guess i've gotten used to knowing
that your words can't always fix what's broken inside

you say that i know nothing
but with every sweep of your broom,
with every wipe of your cloth
against the corners that have slowly started to collect dust
you bury me under what used to be a colossal of a heart
i try to suffice this cup with a love-filled gesture,
a written letter, an explanation to why i am an apparent disappointment
but nothing will ever be enough

you say that i know nothing
but to rely on the people around me
you say that i can't cook to please,
that i can't fix things and that i'm clueless on how to live this life
that has been given to me
that my hands are too weak to hold the stirring wheel
that my skin is too soft and easily grazed
that i can't satisfy a husband if needed be

so i'm sorry and that i know nothing
but to observe life from a far away distance
that i've been too busy trying to fix my mistakes
instead of cleaning the messes i leave behind
i'm sorry for being a lousy driver
for as my weak hands have to offer
only comfort and guidance to the people i love the most
i'm sorry for clinging to my own perspective of wisdom
instead of working towards the outcome,
for leaving the dishes as they towered one on top of the other
i'm sorry for being human, and for being a daughter
that has not passed your expections
for being the one that knows nothing more
but to cherish the hands meant for reaching places instead of bed sheets
meant for adventure, instead of suffering

i'm sorry for living

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

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?

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.