i promise
the next time i write here
it'll be a happy poetry
not a broken one

:)

part of choosing me
is letting go of you

you used to be a stranger
and now,
you're becoming one again

if there is one thing I owe to love
that is poetry

whether I'm loving or hurting
it made a poet out of me
and I couldn't be thankful for
having to weave these feelings
into words
and gave it to the world

the thing is
i don't know if it's my ego hurting
or my heart?

how do you know if someone's indifference
really hurts you?

all these conversations i made up in my head
just to fill up our lost communication

if the choice to die
was mine to make
i'd probably dead by now

when you miss someone
the happy memories
hurt the most

----a consolation
for the prize you didn't win



please, DON'T try again

dearest inay,

you won't be able to read this
but still I wanted to write
hoping that angels will whisper my words to you

inay, your passing is the most painful I ever had
no words can explain the pain I felt on that November morning
and after half a year, tears still streaming
I wish I could blame someone
I wish I could just say that it's just a matter of time
and everything will be okay
but I know deep down, everything will never be the same

I didn't tell you before
but you are the definition of a mother to me
you are so selfless and caring and loving
and when I'm with you
I feel like I'm a child that needs protection
not an independent girl people have known me to be

I pray, God will let me meet you again in another lifetime
I wish you could be my child
so that I can show you how good mother you are.

i miss you so much and it breaks my heart knowing that in this life, we will never have a chance to speak again

I wish
I could be a good writer
the one that could give light thru poetry
but when I started to type
my heart only whispers broken words

at times
I wish I could live backwards
hoping that I could meet
the happy version of me

STOP
romanticizing my poetry
to fit your narratives
this isn't about you

no thoughts,
just me
missing the
writer me

I find peace in thinking
that I could settle somewhere
cold but green
being sustainable and nature-lover

Living in this world was never easy for me
to be honest i used to find peace in the thought of death
end of all - pains, sufferings, trials, heartbreaks
because why try hard to live when dying is hundred percent easier
I socialize, but deeply I hate human interactions
My mom used to tell me when she's mad
that I'm better off alone
And I must admit I'm really good at being alone
My best friend said that she can't imagine someone would tame my attitude, I'm twisted, complicated and I can't blame them
I don't even understand myself most of the time

I hope you don't hate
the reflection you see
when u look in the mirror

They say,
If two people are meant to be,
In the end it'll be their story.

But after you left, I say
If we're still meant to be,
Then **** destiny

it took--
countless sleepless nights
river of tears; ocean of sadness
dozen of prescribed pills
never-ending cycle of time travel to the memories we shared, half-hoping it'll happen again
years of doubting my worth
BUT I GET IT NOW
-----------------------------------
"Why you didn't stay?" I asked myself.
And the answer hit me like a thunderstorm stirring in a hot humid afternoon waiting to strike anytime:

"Some people came into our lives not to save us, but to teach us how to save ourselves."

i wish
"sorry"
can make
the pain
stops

they say they will like you
until the storm within you starts stirring up
and blew them all away

and you were left alone
because
no one
no one
survived your storm

i lost count of sheep
on waiting for you to tell me something
i want to hear

i lost track of time
on waiting for you to catch me
in this falling game

but above all

i lost myself
trying to be someone
you want me to be

People die
              and feelings change

       Feelings die
              and people change

                    but from the start,
                                              in between,
                                                           and in the end....
                                                                                                  life always,
                                                                                          always goes on..

save me
from my thoughts

save me
from my demons

save me
from these pains

but most of all,

save me from you

How did I learn to write?

When I learn, that pain can actually be a pen.
And blood turns to ink.