i’m not a lover,
i’m a mover.
a pusher,
a puller,
a secret keeper.
a violent hurricane
that leaves palm trees overturned
and businesses distraught.
an afterthought,
a delicate reminder of joy
for only a moment.
a hazy daydreamer,
a ‘try my best.’
a solo traveler,
who braves the windy waves alone.
though the water tumbles over
ships and i feel like surrendering.

i am a lover,
i just don’t understand the patterns of skin touching,
of how to awaken the lullabies buried inside of me.
i don’t understand how to stop the madness
from escaping my palms
and dripping onto your back.
i wipe the ink from your body.
it stains my fingertips.
i am a lover,
i just don’t understand how to love you,
to surrender to the thought that maybe i cannot control everything in my wake
and that is not a curse.
i am a lover who was raised in flames,
but i can be tame.

Lucky are those who have found love
and been loved.

Lucky are those who bear the gift of face.
   Easy is for them to find an easy case
            for their own taste
     - a goal for their own base.

Lucky are those who has an outstanding confidence.
For by it, they don’t live with a doubtful fence.
Freely as they get any wants in their existence.

I give away smiles, pieces of my lies,
        pretending not having rainy skies.
Hiding my Breathless sighs.

Sometimes I am like a rock
   too dull to feel, a surface too rough.
A sense I lost, an unreachable core,
I don’t know how to love anymore.



*© 2014 Pax

You came into this world screaming for your right to be loved,
please don’t think you have to leave the same way.  
I know what it’s like to crush pills every night just so you can break something other than yourself, but darling, love doesn’t exist in powder.
Remember that inside of you are crashing galaxies; every fiber of your being resonates with tragedy and stardust,
and there is someone out there who will want to crawl into the folds of your universe.
However, there will be days that even ghosts can’t see you,
but just remember that you don’t have to search for approval in the arms of strangers.
It won’t be there.
The only thing you’ll find is trouble.
When you notice that lovers repeatedly treat you like a puddle, stepping
over you and carrying on with their life, know that that’s not what you are.
You are an ocean, ebbing and flowing with the moons magnetism.
Calm enough to carry the burdens of others,
but powerful enough to drown them.
It’s not easy realizing that everyone you have ever loved has never loved you, but neither is pretending to be a *******.
So give away paper mâché versions of your heart, one after the other,
until you find the person who notices the difference
between something living and something dead.
Until you find the person who is willing to ask about your real heart.  
There is no reason that you should not be loved.