Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Pax Apr 2015
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
to simply say: "I am just unlucky in terms of love"


First of all I want to give my special thanks to all my friends who supports me not in my writing but the me who is inside in every piece I penned. To all of you, it let me believed that I should not give up on love, with that it is enough for me to stay positive… hopeful for someday someone will come and bring spring to my 'cold landscape', bring light to my 'unglowing star' and a home that I could finally call my own to stop being the 'passerby'...

....
Pax Apr 2015
I love the idea of someone will be there for me
Yet in reality, I doubt it to be.
Truth that I knew so well
That I am hard to love seems no one can tell.
...sometimes this is what i know...
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.

— The End —