We live in between the break
Of things,
Mostly broken and curled up
Into each other.
The glow of the screen,
The result of a million jolts
Crammed into one place.
I suppose we do need things
To spend our money on.
Things that we can add to our dreams.
Especially if it doesn't interrupt
What we've waited all day to watch.

For two broken pieces
Sitting together on the couch,
That's alright.
Of all the times you've appeared
In my dreams,
I cannot tell you what perfume
You had on,
Or what designer brand you wore
From any of the commercials
I've seen.
But when our show goes on break
Or whatever movie we're watching
goes off,
The best advertisement I've seen
Is the way you look at me

Call me,
Even if it's 3 a.m.,
And I am dead to the world.
Every fire pit eventually has to go out,
But even those cold ash embers
Are kept warm by the lively ones
That have yet to go out.

If you get lost
And the surrounding starts
To look unfamiliar,
Call me.
Even moths need sleep.
I promise you're not disturbing
Me.

We'll find another pit to hang around.
If you get lost and don't feel
That warmth around you.
Don't you go getting lost on me,
I'll be that lonely stubborn ember
That refuses to go out
One that keeps you warm
Until you feel safe,
And we both fall asleep
There isn't a dark too deep
That we can't explore
Even if it's 4 a.m.

I  am a ball falling into
A corner pocket.
Hit and sent flying.
The clatter of hopes and dreams
Knocked into each other.
I tumble into darkness
A world I've never known.
Unsure of where I am going.
But I roll.
Sent spinning across a velvet tongue.
I feel the rush.
Direct from the cue stick.
Pushed by the cue ball.
A crisp crack and I am sent flying.
Seamlessly waiting in line
Not knowing what number I am.
A shot aimed into netted lips.
As I tumble and swirl.
It turns out it's not so dark
In here after all.
Love is a game, and here I am.
Waiting to be placed back
Into the rack

There are two types of people,
The wind and the leaf,
Guess which one am I...

I'm being blown in all different directions by this wind called life,
Destined to wilt and fall on the ground.

But I guess we're all leaves after all.
We start of as a bud, unfurling into a vibrant green leaf.
As seasons change, we turn to brilliant shades of red, orange, or yellow, before falling to the ground.

But the difference is there are those who live like the wind and those who are like me.
Who only get to rest when there's no wind,
Get peace when there's no wind,
Be in control when there's no wind,
But that's like saying when there's no wind, there's no life.
When there's no life, I'll live.

You wanted a woman, full of love’s embrace,
Unscarred by doubt, in a gentle space.
But not one wiser, shaped by her fight,
Learning from truths that emerge in the night.

You sought a woman with eyes that could shine,
Yet never imagined they’d see through your lies.
Not just a listener to every word spun,
But one who speaks boldly, knowing she’s won.

You demanded a woman, strong and refined,
But not one to build a life intertwined.
Just a rare jewel to keep on display,
Reaping the labor you forced her to pay.

Yet here she stands, like a fire untamed,
Refusing to dim or be easily claimed.
Her spirit forged by moments unkind,
Each scar a story, each story aligned.

She no longer waits for approval or praise,
No longer trapped in your self-serving maze.
Step by step, she has found her own path,
Unafraid of her power, unscathed by your wrath.

Accepting no less than the respect she deserves,
The kind you give freely, but she now reserves.
She now sees the heights she’s destined to reach,
Aware that your ego can’t bear her to breach.

Her self-assurance glows like the sun’s warm rays,
Marking the end of your manipulation days.
And perhaps that’s why—deep down, we both know—
You never took the time to see her grow.

You ignored her strength, overlooked her pain,
Blind to her progress, immune to her gain.
But now, as she rises, unyielding and true,
She steps from your shadow into a sky wide and blue.

How far she has traveled, how much she has won,
No longer tethered; she’s embraced who she’s become.

His whole life unfolded like a well written manual, everything was planned, his own design,
In a search for feelings lost in time,
His own guidance was the anchor that kept his ship ashore,
One day he had planned to not guide himself any more,
To reel in his anchor and float into the deep sea.

One day he had planned to let himself be guided by the darkness that swallows all,
His death was all but accidental,
His death was all but unplanned,
He wanted control over his entire life and so his death was a part of that.

He had written his letters,
Though he doubts the words will ever seek to be read,
He had cast aside the schackles of his labor,
The one thing where he had no control, And he had sold his house to a newlywed couple,
They had something he had never planned on achieving.

Now he had taken a lift up 9 stories high,
Up a building he had always admired from afar,
A piece of architecture he could always appreciate.

He stands with his toes over the ledge,
Most hesitant when faced with a leap this far,
But he had planned to make it quick,
So he jumped and fell,
He had planned for it to be cold,
For it to be fast and swift,
Yet he could've never planned on,
The view from halfway down.

As if time had stopped,
All the feelings that he thought he had lost reveal themselves stronger than he had ever planned on,
He didn't want his life to be over,
He never planned on this feeling.

And before he could exclaim to God for mercy,
Just as he had planned, the concrete made him meet his end.

Lingering pain

I yearn for comfort, and relief; help and refuge.
But to no avail.
My pain lingers, and it hurts -- discreetly. It is unbearable.
But with time, it passes. Not in a good way. Gone and dormant for now. But will torment you again, and make you sick. A virus.
In fact, now that i've mentioned it. It's gone again.

Essentially depending on the hour, three to four or even six in the morning, I roll down my sleeves and allow my scars to breathe.

The scars on my arms that mark and resemble emotional pain. They themselves take deep breaths, just like I.

But. No other hour I allow them to, for they must be concealed and hid from the many monsters that roam and universally rend me in particular.

Though, it's nice to know I am not alone. I love my scars, even if I cut and deliberately open them on purpose. They are almost reminiscent of a friend you know is too good for you, too kind, too selfless and too patient.

Like a wonderful friend you adore, taking the form of a cut on your arm.

Two Sides. One which aims to please, obey, reassure, hide and convince through the pain they bear.

And the other is defiant, livid, refusing and careless - thundering very often, reminiscent to be of an angry and stormy sky! Though this one also bears pain...

Did you notice something the two have in common? Yes, that's right! The both of them bear pain - a mutual pain despite how different.

This Is A Trauma Response. Two Sides that are moulded and melded together against my will - the two children trying in their own ways to protect me: undergoing psychological abuse and neglect from strangers which claim to be paternal figures.

Sometimes, the obedient child forces my face a smile when facing the monsters, an attempt to deceive and simutaneously protect me.

Not only that, but the noise of footsteps against creaky floors, presumably to be the monsters approaching my room, the child will forcefully pull my head under the blanket, an attempt to fool the monster that i'm sleeping...

Though this action isn't consistent.

Sometimes, the naughty child snaps with rage and defiance! Running their mouth, slamming doors and even shoving. This one is fed-up. Fed-up of the mistreat I receive universally.

If anyone dares to oppose this one, or get close to me, they'll lunge forward with snapping jaws full of hate. Further hinderance can elevate the words, soon into violence they crave and harbor.

But deep down, the children, myself included, wish for harmony and peace. All these aspects which will never be requited...