I am the one who was thrown out of hell.
The sins that I committed,
Here, my silence gonna tell.

Listen, you dear people,
Nothing in my life was ever simple.

Cursed being a birthmark,
I have been falling over a deep dark.

If it's in my heart or in my mind,
I wish to keep everything everywhere just aligned.

But wait, I am actually a sinner,
Roaming in this materialistic world being a grinner.

Crying so hard deep down inside though it's my dry eyes,
It's enough of stucking below the heavy skies.

For so many years, I heard my own screaming,
But this corpse ended up her identity without revealing.

Sinner,
For heaven, not designed
From hell, left behind
And this earth rejected her for mankind.

What is a writer without whimsy,
an artist without arrogance,
a poet without pain?

i was born
i lay in a cot
my heart beat rang
i sang and i sang
i gave my voice away
as i matured
naively i was lured
into adulthood
without a hood
naked, i stood
out of breath
no stability
looked for divinity
but nothing concrete
looked back
empty and bleak
but my eyebrows were on fleek
submission
to an ideal
i ride
but i never lay still
i dreamt
but dreaming is to ****
**** reality
**** your own insanity
**** your own vanity
no baby
please keep yo "sanity"

you don't have to say "i love you" to express your feelings
let the kiss and touch speak
risking everything is the most real thing of love in action
never give up on the right person for immortality of love

develops feelings doesn't have to be emotionally beautiful
it can grow slowly and painfully
the emotion of love has the heart to feel what it feels
it can tear up so easily
one mistake, one heartbreak
and you are done

let your action speak
the meaning of love doesn't have to be romantic
it doesn't have to be roses and a ring
eternal love?
love someone with action
action is real and strong
and you have your eternal

Eventually, we all become somebody else.

Some become the fathers they wished
to have had in their childhood.

Others become the mothers
they despised growing up.

Some become the friends
they kept a rat race with.

And some others become
the man or woman
they want to marry.

Being a poet
is both a pain and a privilege.

All you do is
bleed your emotions
on a thousand pages
while people sing your praises
for ages.

I wish I could feel something, anything.

I wish I could smile over a thought, a thought that is
as random as eating pizza with a fork.

I wish I could feel your touches on my skin; the tips
of your finger drawing aimless patterns.

My wishes are so simple but emptiness rules the corners of my days.

I wish I could feel anything, literally anything, but emptiness.