the world works like a machinery,
and i am a young robot
made to function despite the misery;
at the expense of death on the inside,
pieces of me were individually bought.

IA

people possess three things in life:
a shield, a heart, and a dagger

a shield for the logic,
a heart for the soul,
a dagger forged by the strength of emotion,
unbeknownst to many about its origin.

people used these three things,
a dagger to protect oneself from this cruel world,
a heart to beat its rhythm of existence,
and a shield to ward off the weapon from wounding and distorting a heart.

why do we need a dagger?
it takes two to tango,
it takes chaos to begin chaos.

people wander relentlessly,
breathing, and existing and loving,
until a dagger pierces through,
leaving an open wound,
and a weapon sharpened.

little do we know,
the closer the proximity,
the more ideal love gets,
the lesser we see it coming,
the lesser we forget,
a shield is used to protect a soft, beating creature.

from an open wound,
and sharp weapon,
the cycle of chaos arise,
few people heal,
multifolds stab another heart,
"perhaps there will always be another heart to break."

one polished its shield very well;
the logic and knowledge
choked a heart to non-existence,
there was nothing left to stab,
there was nothing left to feel.

one stood with a wooden shield,
a state of balance within,
of calm and chaos and fear
to wound and lose its heart,
and be forced to survive with a dagger.

the pandemic goes on,
perhaps only until the daggers cease to exist,
soft creatures cannot battle with a heartless one,
it can only tame a while, until it becomes distorted and heartless too.

the pandemic weakens
when a wounded heart heals,
not because of the shield,
not because of time itself,
but because it's a wonder: some hearts can never be irreparably broken.

IA

where solitude and solace unite,
the painful past is viewed at my hind sight,
for which the present heals, the future becomes more bright
stay here for a while, it's alright to mourn and heal in the night.

IA

this is a poem of treasured nostalgia;
when Fate wrote what we were supposed to be,
there was rain pouring down hard
two young souls slow dancing in the dark,
his eyes was a mesmerizing art,
his arms were my home, his hand was my guide,
gently tugging me along with my heart
held upon by his other hand,
I held on tightly, enthralled
and yet I breathe exhausted.
I could only last for so long until I ask for my heart back,
all the love for myself drains, running my soul into a drag race
"Where are we heading?" I asked, we're all heading to finish line
"What then if we do?" I asked, and I answered before he could,
we both loved, both break, both hurt, and both end by then,
the scenery blurs,
the time slows down
my breathing begins to even,
our hands so tightly clasped loosened,
I took my heart with grief, anxiety, and fear
even before I could know what the finish line could be.

IA

i have left pieces of me to people i've loved,
i called it art; some remains close to me like home,
some are kept and never retrieved, relentlessly wandering ;
round and round in a museum filled of memories & history.

IA ☕

my heart was hammered a couple times,
of a few lovers who knew bittersweet crimes,
even with these remnants, I want to bet on uncertainty
I want to learn how to love again - fearlessly even in adversity.

IA

I itch to find the right words,
so as not to come off all messy and absurd
yet a lot of oppositions exist even before a word or two
all these words remain unsaid just as how it used to;
reserve your wit,
reserve your advice,
reserve all your chaos,
because sometimes words come off as swords
when all emotions and thoughts come off unfathomed and cluttered.

IA

the night is dark and cold,
only the neon moon exists up above,
it was heavy, a goodbye was told
my heart cracks up and bleeds with love
I pray to heavens for these smithereens,
I am young and I don't long for what could have been's,
I may hit rock bottom but I will preen
these smithereens of an old soul,
so that when the right man who is unforeseen,
arrives to hold my preened heart made whole.

IA

peace exists only until
you destroy its walls,
your words bled its ears,
you suffocate it with love,
you dim the light of hope,
you wreak havoc in its home,
and left like a prideful coward,
just when the beast in slumber awakens.

IA

she breathes chaos
with a sophisticated beauty of a lady boss
fear the unpredicted, for she stops at nothing
when she desires something.

IA ☕

she was a dreamer,
who spends her days scribbling
her thoughts and dreams onto paper,
only to tear off the page,
folded onto a paper airplane,
blown with her passionate soul
towards a cosmic travel.

IA

in the subtlety of time,
they dragged me into a dark pit of existence,
sundered my being with their sharp claws
of everything as dark as their eye pupils
they had no ears to listen to my wails,
chained in terror, at loss for hope;
I was their sole epitome of misanthrope,
birthed by my own mind; demons beyond my scope

loneliness engulfed me; the downside of solitude
demons voided me from a life well-pursued
they were an illusion who loves to delude,
day by day, I attempted to befriend them,
what better way to lure an enemy into a friend condemned?

yet there was a root to its subsistence,
there was pain to its persistence,
it was real, desiring for our coexistence.

IA ☕

my heart weighs
with both heaviness and emptiness,
trying to beat to its regular rhythm,
to find clarity and reason

filled with the urge to write,
catalyzed by the chaos of emotion,
I lay sleepless with my thoughts,
in an attempt to fill in the silent voids.

IA

it is a curse to remember,
and feel nostalgic
of a forgotten era,
when memories and reality
are complete opposites.

IA

someone in the room asked, "what is one thing
you would want to change about a girl?"
she turned her gaze, with a wine glass
wrapped in her delicate fingers,

"To be a woman."
her answer instigated the audience,
some stared at her, puzzled and confused
some who understood her,
looked at her intently intrigued.

"I sense a charisma of Athena,"
a witty man approached,
showing his well-sculpted physique,
"you're silver-eyed and daring."

she wasn't one for flattery,
"She's Helen of Troy,"
another man walked, cornering her
"bringing armies to heel with a turn of her head."

she flashed a daunting smile,
sipping the remaining blood red wine,
"I am no goddess, but a woman;
because to be a woman, is to be undefined."

IA

when youths fall in love,
some venture a lifetime worth
of a love story to tell,
from youth to centenarians,
love never seems to die
love never seems to imbalance,
'til death do they part, with a happy sigh.

but some youths fall in love,
and venture young tragedy
losing themselves for temporary happiness
but who are we to take these away
if love is such a beautiful thing
that makes living life more worthy.

IA

"would the universe fight for our paradoxical hearts?"
You say our hearts could be bulletproof,
You say we're matches lit up, we'll never burn out,
You say we're an abstract art in a canvas painted through,
You say this forever journey of love is the best route,
Yet the paradox exists-- we can never be one.

I wrote about the freefall, your eyes, your smile--
the entirety of your beauty
Looking past but through your heart and soul,
Forging deep blue fear and rosewood love--
Love is a sweet poison until you realize formulating an antidote is difficult,
If the paradox of fear twins up with hatred, why do we love?

Two hearts beating,
with the effort of trying to be at the same rhythm,
Missing a whole note, taking a quarter rest
when the slicing pain of sweet poison takes on--
of fear, of misunderstanding, of jealousy, of the sad hypothetical truth that I may never be able to love,
And when the rhythm falls out of tune, the pianist stops playing.

It's a paradox of self-medicating oneself through love,
And yet fearing the downfalls, the heartbreak,
The absolute uncertainty that our hearts, might yet be penetrating bullets from the other
We're matches lit up, blown by the wind of cruel fate,
"we're all born to love, and cursed to feel", it whispered, burning out the flame between us,
We're an abstract art meant to be understood by the best of artists, even yet like Picasso
But we're only colors dripping out of a canvas, with shades of memories left behind,
It's a paradox I loved you when I don't even know what love is,
It's a paradox you were my universe, when it felt like a mesmerizing black hole--
exhibiting a gravitational acceleration that nothing, nor I would have wanted to escape it
It's a paradox we believed this was the best route,
When we've reached this tragic end, only to realize we're meant to come home to ourselves.

IA

life is paradoxically beautiful and cruel,
but happiness and discontentment is just a mental duel,
there are so many reasons to be happy
despite having landed rock bottom,
despite regrets,
despite pain,
despite loss,
despite grief,
despite hell.

life's too short to let your demons dance your own stage,
to let pain and death tremble you as your misery's wage,
life won't ever be out to get you, so smile at that,
you're not born in demand to have your whole life mapped;
write, compose, maybe shout what you feel,
paint art in abstractions, in lines with zeal,
listen to the kind of music that would wrap your soul safe & sound
laugh at the misery, because as tough as it is, you can't be dragged down.

IA

𝐼'𝑚 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑖𝑛' 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝, 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛' 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒
hold me close, I don't want to feel in love yet alone
a tattered young soul, dressed in sad monochrome

𝐷𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛' 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑠, 𝑛𝑜𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑔𝑜
feeling lost, counting streetlights as the wind blow
perhaps on a midnight search of a heart's afterglow

𝐹𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒
breathing in love as romantic gothics fell on the floor
tired eyes of a restless lover fighting a nonsense war

𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼'𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤
but all good and worthy things come after a beautiful woe
caressed my wounds and scars, from where flowers grow.

IA

when I think I'm alright,
I still need some pills or a song
to get me through the night
trying to forget how to feel about what went wrong

maybe sometimes it's better to lay sleepless
than drift myself to sleep and wake up hopeless

IA

we hold our mind and heart
of such a time-made empirical value
we loved, and we lost, where do we restart?
sweet paradox, maybe it's a theoretical us down to "me & you"

IA

it aches when a void remains unfilled,
but not more than having it filled temporarily,
and left again as to how it used to.

like a puzzle piece creates a picture,
but the Universe says, "something better's coming"
and it was a carousel that never ends.

let the heart holes be left untouched,
and we produce technicolor tears,
of hues that attempt to convey a motion picture
of chaotic human emotion.

IA

a gloriously beautiful man and angel
cast down to heavens
for his pride and rebellious streak,
sympathizing the tempting evil, Satan.

then is a fallen angel commiserating
the iniquity of a sinner who needed it most,
whose name and itself is a scapegoat,
to him ascribe all sin and darkness,
the corruption of humanity,
as he himself is chained
to the rough and jagged rocks,
awaiting the vicious torment,
just like a scapegoat sinner in dire need
of common humanity's prayer.

IA

we live in a phase to be written down in history,
where people needed humanity;
the eyes to see,
the ears to listen,
the mind to think,
the lips to encourage,
the hand to kindly give,
and the heart to burst with love.
where people take lesser things for granted;
a soul tap with nature,
a coffee with a good friend,
an affection from a loved one,
a moment that easily passes by if not lived.

bittersweet neoteric epiphanies,
gliding through my skin like a cold sheet of memories,
as fond as it is for my isolated soul,
they felt so new, so raw, that I hope on the aftermath
pride and prejudice steps aside for humanity to make us whole.

IA

running out of my favorite coffee
on such a fine evening to work and write poetry,
without a hot mug beside, it feels incomplete in all honesty,
went for some decaf, apologies, my taste does not really fancy

IA ☕

it was remember to forget;
that then is not the same as now,
and miles have stretched in between since we have met.

IA