She is a lost soul.
She wonders, yet she still could not fathom the urge to be made whole again. And then she wanders, a soul thirsty for new beginnings.
She was looking down at the big city—they were so alive, heavy breathing's can be heard around; footsteps were rushing—smiles plastered on their faces, yet they were so alone.
They were made out of different stories—but there is only one thing they must find and feel, to be found and be whole. Besides, they were not so different—if she is a lost soul, what can hinder her to find her one true love?
And then there's him—he was made out of soft pillows, he was an another poem she's excited to read. He was an ink—giving another color to a blank page; he was a story she will never get tired of: to read.
She was so eager to see him every time. To feel him—to look at his heart; yet he was an almost to its completion—and then there's her, so broken—humiliated, hurt and blinded.
There's no space left for her. And then she wandered again. She tried so hard to forget him—she thought he was the one who will complete everything that is lost and broken; yet she was left with no other choice: to be a wandering soul, again.
Maybe she was made exactly like that—no other form of strings will tie the knot, other than herself.
Oh to learn how to love you.
In the end I think
the pain was too much to bear
to see such behavior coming from someone so beautiful
to see such hatred towards myself
coming from my own eyes,
eyes as lush and green as a forest canopy
at least that is how you described them back then
but your own eyes,
deep blue pools of loathing
for everyone around you,
they tell me what you truly mean.
That my eyes are dull and ugly
and better off looking in a different direction
and that you don't care what I do anymore
nor did you ever care
As long as no one is by my side
and that I do not exist to anyone other than myself
you will be happy
Most poems I write comes from personal experience if anyone cares to wonder. I don't listen to him anymore.
You will never see
How your smile lights up the room
You always see
How your smile lights up my heart
So it's official I am continuing "her" series.
I loved her
try to breathe in.
try to breathe out.
his hands are on my sternum.
my mind blacks out the image.
i’m wringing my hands together.
no...i’m pulling my hair.
his breath is on my neck —my ear.
i’m pressing my palms into my eyes.
i’m not sure oxygen is making it to my lungs.
he’s making animalistic sounds.
he’s thrown my body into shock.
it’s like watching in slow motion.
it’s another girl.
god, i hope it’s not you.
I love the way her hair turns in circles,
How she cuffs her pant legs to show her shoes,
The way she hikes her pants like Steve Urkle’s
How she only wears different kinds of blues.
If my parents knew they’d certainly cry.
Such disappointment for their only kin,
But if they knew they would surely ask: Why?
My religion would view me as a sin.
My mom says I am committing a crime.
My dad says I should not think about it.
My friends say they’ll support me in due time.
My therapist says this will go to ****.
My story has no home, it is a stray;
But this story has a plot twist. I’m gay.
A sonnet for those who wish they could be themselves.
Our love is everlasting
I can't wait to hold you
And softly whisper,
I Love You..
why do you leave me
for months at a time?
i wish you could see
i wish you were mine
i'll just stand under this tree
why is my head so full of brine?
you're the one with the key
you don't care that i'm not fine
you can't seem to hear my plea
you don't know that it's a crime
to hurt one person like you have me
to slowly stab me over time
you don't know that i can see
that i know that you're not mine
that you held her under that tree
that you'll fill her head with brine
that you'll steal her only key
that you'll make sure she's not fine
that you'll never hear her plea
that she'll know that it's a crime.