as a child it took me
a while to know
I was not living
in a tale where you tend a
toothless dragon
and fly;
where you accompany
a hobbit with a ring
through a war;
you just come to that age
where your powers
are stripped
you then start your life
sometimes the weight
of the world is just gravity
you can't "Hasta La Vista" away
sometimes the antagonist is
your anxiety
the prison break
is in your room
the holy war is your
struggle to get up
from bed
and sometimes the
glimmering meadows
on the way home
from the journey
are not followed
by credits rolling
but like a stone you do
never falling into place
like a lost jigsaw
if the puzzle was planned
it would be against you
all brutal and ******
but all up to entropy
there's no boy who lived
nor a chosen one
we are stardust put together
in such a way
whether or not it means anything
is up to you because
there is not plot
but your dreams
the force may not always
be with you
you have to be the force

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.

What if every little thought
That lives inside your head
Instead of hiding away in there
Was spoken out, was said?

Would you be embarrassed?
Would you hate your mouth?
Would you rather be mute
Than let the truth come out?

What if every little thing
That people thought of you
Instead of being tucked away
Was heard, was listened to?

Would you be ashamed?
Would you cover your ears?
Would you rather be deaf
Than let the truth come near?

And what if every image
That passes through your thoughts
Was freed from its prison
To roam until it rots?

Would you be disgusted?
Would you look away?
Would you rather be blind
Than see your thoughts at play?

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come